


Thicker than Water

by Aragem



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adult Content, Alternate Universe, Angel Dust-Typical Sexual Content (Hazbin Hotel), Assassination Attempt(s), Attempted Sexual Assault, Bisexuality, Bounty Hunters, Epilepsy, F/F, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Homosexuality, Humans in Hell (Hazbin Hotel), M/M, Mystery, Past Child Abuse, Plot Twists, Prostitution, Revenge, Secrets, Sexual Content, Sexual Harassment, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 44
Words: 158,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25569793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aragem/pseuds/Aragem
Summary: Marty has been in hell for a few decades, living life as an average demon in Pentagram City, that is, until he discovers I.M.P. has been hired to murder his still living daughter, Liz.  Through a botched assassination attempt, Liz reunites with Marty in Hell - a father she hadn't seen for over 30 years.  With no other choice but to trust Marty to protect her against the hazards of Hell, they work together to discover the identity of the demon who wants her dead.Thankfully, there is safe refuge in the Happy Hotel.Also contains artwork from various artists.For sneaks peeks and updates follow me on Tumblr and Twitter: rebelcourtesan
Relationships: Angel Dust & Arackniss (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 392
Kudos: 188





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Any kudos or comments is much appreciated.
> 
> For updates and more follow my blog on Tumblr and Twitter: rebelcourtesan
> 
> Thicker than Water now has its own Tv Tropes page! https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/ThickerThanWater
> 
> Listen to the Thicker than Water Playlist on Spotify! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3zzlwOCUOUlMfMVom1G58N?si=-BuspLJiQUa_-J4NjXZhGA
> 
> Please, do NOT repost nor steal any art! I commissioned the art with my own money and the artists deserve the credit for the artwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commissioned Artwork by Chio. You can follow her on Twitter at @chio17464799.

Marty’s hands were shaking; the claw tips rattled against each other as he squeezed the steering wheel so tightly the leather whined. A glance in the rearview mirror told him there was no pursuit, but then he had a head start, and had poked holes in the tires of all the vehicles outside the office building. 

How desperately do they want her dead? 

His black and cerulean eyes gazed at the figure huddled in the passenger seat, head bowed, and crimson dripping off the chin.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, fuck!”

He was failing her again. 

Marty opened the glove compartment and rummaged blindly, while keeping his eyes on the road, and tossed aside dirty napkins from various fast food restaurants, forgotten receipts, and even a pack of condoms until he finally found an unopened tissue packet. Damn, this was all he had when she needed bandages, a hospital, or a doctor, but there were no such things for damned Sinners in Hell. 

Taking one more look in the rearview mirror and still not seeing any pursuit, Marty took the risk of pulling over onto the side of the road and treating her injury. Dabbing away the blood, he looked at the cut on her cheek, which was already swollen and angry. He was no doctor, but he didn’t think the wound was deep and could do without stitches. 

“You’re gonna be okay, I promise,” he whispered, holding her head and gently laying it against the headrest. 

Lights splashed across the windshield. Instantly, he turned off the headlights and ducked down, covering her body with his, tucking his tail deep into the floorboard between his legs. Concentrating, he spread his camouflage over them. The light around them bent and shifted until they could not be seen. Anyone looking inside would only see empty seats. 

If there was one thing he was grateful for when he was damned, it was the chameleon ability to blend into his surroundings, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could do the same for someone close to him. It had saved his ass many times since his damnation. 

The lights washed over them, growing brighter as the car drew closer. 

_ Don’t stop. Just keep going—nothing to see here. Only an abandoned car on the side of the road, not worth your time.  _

The gun pressed into his hip, and he squeezed the grip with his finger off the trigger for now. If someone dared to peek in, he’d have time to pop off a shot directly into the face. A gunshot to the head was enough to stun a demon or at least put them out until they rejuvenated, but what if the curious person had friends? 

The car went by without slowing down, and the light disappeared. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Marty wasted no time in dropping the camouflage and resuming the journey back to Pentagram City. 

What was he to do when they arrived? What happened next? And most of all, what the fuck was he going to say when she woke up? 


	2. Arc 1: Welcome to Hell - A Normal Day in Hell

**Now: Pentagram City**

Never before in his life and after could he remember a time when he was so on edge. Everything he saw could be hiding danger, and every sound was the whistle of a speeding bullet just before it ripped his brain apart. 

It wasn't his life he feared for. If he'd rejuvenate from a gunshot within a few hours with a fearsome headache in the aftermath, he would be unconscious. She would be vulnerable and helpless against whatever happened next. 

Entering Pentagram City only made him feel a little safer. With this being Hell, no one was ever truly safe, but at least he was familiar with the streets, and they lay empty along the way to his apartment.

"We'll be there soon, baby," he heard himself whisper. "I promise we'll be there soon."

She was curled in the seat with her head down and face hidden beneath his fedora. The last thing he needed was someone to see her. She wasn't supposed to be here, dammit, he hoped she would never come here. Yet, here she was unconscious and breathing with her cheek split open. He couldn't stop himself from touching her, squeezing her arm and shoulder to reassure himself that she was physically there. This shouldn't be real, but her skin was warm to the touch, and her bones were solid against his fingers. 

When they arrived at his apartment complex, he went around the block a couple of times to ensure they weren't being followed. Once he was certain it was safe, he parked and shrugged out of his trench coat. 

"I'm going to put this around you, okay?" He told her, even though she couldn't respond. "This . . .this will keep you warm and . . .no one will see you."

He swaddled her in the coat tailored for his larger size, and it enveloped her smaller frame. Mindful of her head, he drew her into his arms and shut the door with his tail as he headed indoors. Usually, his neighbors knew to keep their noses out of others' business. Still, all it would take was a rumor to circulate about Marty carrying what appeared to be a body into his apartment. Not an uncommon occurrence in Hell, but enough to wag tongues. 

Thankfully, no one was in the lobby nor the third floor halls, but Marty didn't relax until he left the elevator and saw the door of his apartment ahead of him. As he carried her inside, he reflected on her weight; he could carry her as easily as he would a kitten. Was he so strong that she weighed nothing, or was it because she was so small?

Stepping over the mess in his apartment, he skirted around the coffee table and to the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed and opened his coat, allowing himself to see her up close for the first time.

"Damn, you look like your mother."

Seeing her brought back old memories of a girl wearing a crop top, scandalous to the conservative community, and large hoop earrings walking towards him, hugging a stack of textbooks and flashing him an affectionate smile. Those were the days when he didn't have a care in the world, and the only thing that made sense was that he was in love with Alice. Goddamn, he had been such a kid back then and in too much of a hurry to grow up. 

If there was one good thing that came from his union with Mary, it was their daughter, the woman lying unconscious on the bed, the still living woman that ended up in Hell.

How the hell did this happen? Yesterday, it had been a normal day in Hell. Just another day of collecting debts with his partner, Shard. 

  
  


**Before: Pentagram City**

Shard had a habit of moving his lips while he counted or even read for that matter. Marty once said it was because he needed to sound the words out to understand them, and that earned him a sharp punch in the arm. It was a useful trait for Marty to see how high the numbers were as Shard counted each bill, but the problem was the numbers weren't high enough. 

Shard paused after he finished counting. His dark fur lay flat around his neck, and under a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up was a telltale rectangular bulge that hinted at where he stashed his cigarettes. It was an old habit from his days as a greaser in the living world. 

The trembling imp with a broken right horn whose fidgeting gave Marty the impression of a nervous rat, began to sputter, catching the dangerous glint in Shard's eyes. "I'll get the rest next week, buddy, I promise."

"I dunno," Shard said in a husky voice that unrolled like a silk flag in the wind. "You said the same thing last week, and here we are."

"This time, I mean it!" The imp pleaded, rubbing his hands together like a fly cleaning itself. 

"Oh, really?" Shard sneered. The poor little guy had walked right into it. "So, you were lying about paying last week?"

Realizing his mistake, the imp made a small frightened squeak and began trembling. "No, I . . .I didn't mean it like that . . .I . . . I'll get the money, I promise. I got a job lined up that pays good, so I'll have the money real soon."

"How soon?" Shard growled, looming over the imp.

Marty took this as a sign to make his appearance. He dropped the veil over his body, letting the light shift and realign itself around him. "Yeah, Glimt, how soon?"

The imp made another frighten peep, amber eyes going larger than saucers. "T-t-tomorrow, I swear it."

"Alright, Glimt, you'll have the money by tomorrow," Shard said, leaning against the alley's wall, unbarring the way for the imp to pass. "Or we'll break off your other horn and shove it sideways up your ass. Get the fuck outta here."

Imp fled as quickly as a terrified squirrel, and the two of them shared a chuckle. Shard unrolled the packet of cigarettes from his sleeve and tapped out one. "That will never get old."

"Any more people in need of a visit?" Marty said, scratching the back of his neck. The skin there was smooth and wasn't the scratchy scales along his limbs and tail. He wore a long brown coat, the type he had seen detectives wear in the daytime tv shows he had enjoyed in life. A fedora completed the outfit, but he was no detective nor function in any capacity as law enforcement that Hell lacked. 

"Nah, we're done for today," Shard said, slicking back the greasy strand of hair back into place. Taking a long drag on the cigarette, he regarded Marty with a softer eye than he had for Glimt. "You wanna go out tonight?"

"Where?" Marty said, accepting an offered cigarette. 

"Hmmm, maybe the Giddy Up Club?" Shard suggested.

"Uh, not really in the mood for that," Marty admitted as they headed back to the car. 

"Hmm, yeah, that place has been stale for a while," Shard muttered, stopping at the car door. "Valentino needs to get some fresh blood in there or somethin'."

Marty paused at the car, a hand on the handle. "Actually, I think I'm gonna turn in early. I got plans tomorrow."

"What about Glimt?"

"He's too scared not to pay up," Marty shrugged and opened the car door. It wasn't much of a car, but it got him from Point A to Point B without much hassle. "He'll find you or me before tomorrow evening."

Shard laid a talon on the open car door, almost blocking Marty from getting in. "We don't have to go out to have fun, ya know?"

He chewed on the lower edge of his lip. It was a tempting offer, and he had gotten almost aroused when Shard menaced Glimt. Their partnership tended to swerve into unprofessional areas. They've had an on and off relationship for nearly twenty five years by now. However, Marty quietly believed they function better as business partners, but the friends with benefits worked out well.

"Maybe tomorrow night?" Marty said, shrugging off the temptation. He needed to get up early tomorrow, and his plans didn't include Shard. 

There was a disappointing tilt in Shard's round ears as he inclined his head. "Sure, man, tomorrow night, we'll go out or stay in. Your choice."

Marty was almost regretting turning down Shard on the way home. Maybe the company would be a welcomed distraction tonight, but it would also be intrusive. 

His apartment itself was nothing to celebrate. It had the signs of past owners by the old stains on the carpet that could be blood or coffee for all Marty could tell, the furniture was scratched and nicked, and there were obscene drawings on the wall. Marty shucked off his coat and tossed it across a sofa and went into the bedroom. It was the cleanest room, which meant it wasn't quite as cluttered as the other rooms. As part of his routine, or ritual, of returning home, he went to the armoire wrapped in chains with a large lock in the center of the doors. It would take a while to realign the chains together, but it was worth the peace of mind.

The chains rattled and slithered to the floor. He bent down and opened the drawer at the bottom. Inside were bundles of money, a gun, and a bottle of expensive brand booze. The real prize was taped to the top of the drawer. With great care, he slowly pulled the Angel Blade or, as others would call it, the l Exterminator's Tool. The end of must have broken off when it hit a building or car during an Extermination, and Marty had been lucky enough to find it in the aftermath. 

The blade was pearl white and gleamed almost menacingly at him. It was sharper than any knife in Hell, drawing a bead of blood when he tapped the tip with a finger. With it being a weapon that could kill demons, it was like hiding a small nuke in his apartment or a rare precious diamond that demons would pay a fortune to own. He held onto it because who knows when he needed to kill someone permanently, and it was like sitting on a nest egg. 

Not even Shard knew about it. It wasn't that he didn't trust his partner, but the less who knew about it, the less chance it slipped out. And it was his and no one else's. If he wanted to sell it, he would tell Shard about it. 

He replaced the Angel Blade and closed the drawer. As valuable as the weapon was, the real prize for him was inside the armoire itself. He opened the double doors and enjoyed the warmth it brought him to see the photos. It was better than the rush of drugs or the buzz from strong alcohol. The pictures were tacked to the inside of the doors and layered the armoire's sides and interior. 

"Hi, Lizzie, I'm home."

They were of a human woman ranging from when she was a child to adulthood, with each taking place at different scenes: eating a sandwich, browsing in a store, working at a desk, and sleeping in bed. 

"It was just the usual today," Marty said. He didn't know why he spoke to the photos as if she were present, but it was cathartic and gave him a connection to something he had lost long ago. "We had to chase down some people, listen to sob stories, but we got the job done. Tony Shark should be happy with today's take. He's an asshole, but wave some money under his nose, and he's good. He takes to it like blood in the water."

The subject in the pictures made no indication that she heard him. He wasn't expecting a response, but it was enough to see her. 

"I gotta get some sleep . . .tomorrow I'm. . . I'm going to see you again," he slowly closed the doors. "Though, you ain't gonna notice me at all."

He reset the chains and secured the lock at the center. Once he was sure his treasures were locked away safe, he could relax enough to sleep.

**Meanwhile in Imp City**

"Everyone listen up! We got a new assignment!" Blitzo slammed a hand down atop of the conference table as if calling an unruly room to order. 

"Sir, we're already 'listening up,'" Moxxie droned. "We've been sitting here for the last hour waiting for you to tell us about it."

"Moxxie, I was building up to it, you know, like a climax, but I don't think you know that is." Blitzo shot the smaller imp a leering smirk and wiggling his eyebrows. 

Before he could fly into a fury, Millie soothed him with tiny circles across his back. The white haired imp calmed down, but gave his boss a sullen look. "It's alright, Mox, we both know that's not true."

Blitzo presented a manilla folder as if it contained the names of winners for the Academy Awards. "This is a rush job, and the client wants it done asap."

The envelope contained a picture and a name. The picture was of a woman with a short dark hair, styled to cover the scar at the edge of her hairline, and at the bottom, scrawled in black ink was the name, Elizabeth Carter. 

  
  



	3. Arc 1: Welcome to Hell - Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commissioned Art Work by @EdgeGeno

**Now: Pentagram City**

Pain pulsed through Liz's temples with each throb of her heart. The first thing she's been taught after suffering trauma was to assess herself. Arms and legs didn't seem broken, and there was no pain when she moved them. The right side of her face hurt, even felt swollen. Probing with her fingers, she discovered a cut that stung when she touched it, but a mirror would be needed to see the full extent of the damage. Sitting up, her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness despite the migraine protesting against her moving. 

"Shit . . ." She whispered once she got a good look at the bedroom that wasn't hers.

Where the fuck was she? 

Fear clutched her heart when she saw she was in a bedroom that wasn't hers. It was a men's bedroom with men’s clothing hanging over furniture and a pair of large shoes laying in front of the door as if planning to trip someone coming in. 

What the hell happened? The last thing she remembered was the conference meeting with Mr. Edgard. 

**Before: The Living World**

"Mr. Edgard, this is as good a deal as you're going to get," she said with cold professionalism.

"This is bullshit!" Almost frothing at the mouth, the man sitting across from her reminded Liz of a junkyard dog whose bone or chew toy had been taken away. 

"Hey, hey, Joe, you gotta calm down," his lawyer, a small man with a thin combover, whispered. "We talked about this."

"No, it's okay," Liz replied. "This is the reason we're here in the first place."

"Fuck you, bitch," Edgard growled. 

"Joe!" The lawyer pleaded. 

"She's trying to take my kids from me!" Edgard was almost howling, beady eyes glinting in untapped fury. "You can't keep a man away from his kids!" 

"We can if he proves himself to be a danger to them," Liz said stiffly.

"I’ve never hurt them," the man seethed. “I would never do that!”

"But you did," Liz said, cutting through the bullshit. She opened a folder and took out a large photo and laid it before him. "You hurt them when you did this to their mother."

It was the former Mrs. Edgard, three months ago, beaten bloody with a dislocated jaw, right eye swollen shut, and broken nose. The woman had been in the hospital for nearly two weeks and would have gone home with this monster if Liz hadn't convinced her to take her children and go to a women's shelter.

“That . . .that was an accident . . .” Mr. Edgard looked away from the picture, something akin to shame passing through his eyes.

"So your fist 'accidentally' hit her face about twenty times?" Liz asked, her hands clenching on the table so tight the knuckles were white. "Your foot 'accidentally' kicked her in the ribs a dozen times while you were trying to help her up? What about the belt? Did it smack her each time you took it on and off about thirty times?"

"Okay, let's keep this professional," Joe's lawyer pleaded.

She swallowed, taking a breath to calm herself. "Mr. Edgard, there's no negotiating this deal. You can see your children once a month with supervision, which is contingent upon you attending anger management classes and respecting the restraining order. After one year, if there are no further issues, we can discuss weekly visitations, but shared custody is not going to happen."

_And I made damn sure of it. I called in every favor I had in the system to bring this case before the right judge. Those poor kids thought it was normal for fathers to beat mothers._

Joe shook his head, face going dangerously red. "I want to see Olivia . . ."

"That's not going to happen either," Liz cut him off. "Olivia doesn't want to see you, and if you reject this deal, then she will press charges against you for domestic assault. And I promise you, if that happens, you'll lose all visitation rights and will be looking at jail time and the people there will hit back."

With a roar of outright fury, Joe surged to his feet in a string of curses, fists clenched with potential violence. His lawyer clung to his arms to hold him back, begging him to calm down. Liz remained sitting, watching the furious man with an arched brow. 

"I ought to break your neck, you fucking home-wrecking bitch," Joe said through his teeth.

"If you want to take a swing at me, go ahead," Liz said, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed, looking at him expectantly. "It'll give me all the ammunition I need to have you put away somewhere where you'll never hurt Olivia or her children again." 

***

Once the meeting ended with Joe Edgard being walked out of the office by his lawyer, Liz went to the women's restroom and threw up. Once her stomach was empty, she washed her face and stared at her pale reflection. "Jesus Christ, he was pissed off enough to kill me."

She was going to catch hell for it from her assistant, Margo, but despite the stress and sickness, it was cathartic to see that bastard backed down. Sure enough, while she was reapplying her makeup Margo came in with her arms crossed and looking quite displeased. 

Her internship ended a year ago, but she stayed on in the office. She was pretty young blonde with sunbed tanned skin that contrasted with her bright blue eyes which were narrowed in Liz’s direction. "Happy? I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance for you."

"He wasn't going to do anything," Liz hoped she sounded confident, but her pallor said otherwise. "At least not in public where he can get caught red handed beating a woman."

_Men like that are cowards. They hide behind a facade of being an all around nice guy until they are in the privacy of their own home and that's when their ugliness comes out._

She dabbed the makeup sponge across her forehead, taking care to apply extra foundation to a scar along her hairline. To the touch, it was a slight divot in the skin and an inch long. Once it was expertly covered in makeup, Liz brushed some hair over it for added coverage. "What about my meeting with Mr. Fredricks?"

"He canceled. Said his wife is sick," Margo said, checking the messages on her phone.

"More like he doesn't want to hear my proposal," Liz pinched the bridge of her nose and drew a short breath. "No worries. I know where he golfs. I'll ambush him later this week." 

"Well, since he canceled, there are no other meetings today, so you should go home and rest."

"I need to call Olivia first and tell her that Joe agreed to the deal. She's going to be so relieved." 

"She should thank God that you went to bat for her," Margo said, tucking her phone away into her pocket. "Take it easy tonight, alright? I think you're more shook than you're letting on."

Even though her assistant was ten years her junior, Margo fretted over her like a mother hen. Or maybe as a worried daughter? Liz glanced at her reflection and saw that she could see the cold sheen of sweat on her brow despite the makeup. "That's not a bad idea. I'll curl up on the couch with a cup of chamomile and Netflix."

**Now: Pentagram City**

_I left the office . . .I went home. I know I did because I'm wearing my pajamas._

Standing made her head swim, and she stood still until it passed. Stepping over old clothes, she tried the door which the doorknob opened in her hand. On the other side of the door was an empty living room in a sad state. There was litter on the floor, but there was a path from the entrance to the bedroom. It smelled like cigarette smoke, but acidity enough to make her eyes water. Touching her stinging cheekbone, she went into the living room that was joined with a kitchen. There was a tiny dining table where several beer bottles stood in a row with an overflowing ashtray. This place just screams that a man was living here alone. 

_I've been kidnapped by someone who doesn't know what the hell he's doing._

Then she saw the note on the door . . . or notes. Upon a closer look, she saw it was one big note with each page taped beneath the other to the door to form one cohesive letter. The oversize writing was messy with words crossed out or misspelled. The first word made her arch an eyebrow. Only her mother had called her Lizzie before she passed away. 

The first page read: _Lizzie, don't be scared. You are safe, but don't go outside or look out the window._

Wow, that's really going to keep me from escaping, she thought.

The second page read: _If you see something that scares you, don't scream. It might attract the neighbors._

"Oh, this doesn't scare me at all," she muttered sardonically.

The third page read: _I went out to get something to eat and clothes for you. I'll be back soon._

And who the hell is bringing her food and clothes? 

And the last page read: _We have a lot to talk about._

"Jesus Christ . . .so I'm supposed to sit here and wait for my kidnapper to come back. Fuck that."

The door was locked, but like her own apartment door, she unlocked it with a simple twist of the lock above the knob. She'll go down to the lobby and ask for the manager and get the police down here. Or maybe it'll be safer to leave the building and go to the nearest store or restaurant. Hell, maybe someone will do her a favor and call the cops if they see a woman sprinting barefoot down the street in pajamas. 

She had the door halfway open when she heard shuffling down the hall. Maybe that was someone she could go to for help. Leaning out, she looked and saw the source of the noise. Remembering the note's warning at the last second, she slapped a hand across her mouth to stop the scream about to rip from her throat and ducked back inside. She hastily locked the door, heart pounding as she returned to the bedroom, wanting to put as many walls as possible between her and what she had seen in the hall.

It just wasn't possible. What she saw couldn't be real. 

At first sight, she thought it was a man until she took in the fur, muzzle, and wispy tail. The wolfman . . .or creature had blood red eyes and rows of serrated teeth it revealed in a long yawn. Had it seen her? If it had, would it be clawing through the door to get at her? Holy shit, was this one of the neighbors the note warned her about?

"Fuck . . ." she whispered, noticing the covered window.

She drew back the curtain and stared . . .for a long time. When she couldn't stand to see anymore, she drew back, pulling a blanket around her and huddled on the bed, wishing she hadn't woken up. 

"Jesus . . .sweet Jesus . . ." she was rocking back and forth, barely able to comprehend everything she witnessed. It was a city street . . .but it was wrong; the sky, people, and buildings were all wrong.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the armoire, sitting open with doors wide open and inside were photos of her. Arranged in order from left to right, there were images of her childhood, teenage years, college, and from what could have been last week. 

She scooted off the bed with the blanket still around her for a closer look. The images were distorted slightly and almost blurry, like a photo of a photo. All of them were her going about her daily business from eating, working, jogging, and even relaxing at home. If she weren't so shell shocked by what she saw out the window, then this would have sent her into hysterics. 

How were these taken? She would have certainly noticed someone in her office or apartment snapping photos of her. And they were taken in angles where she would have certainly noticed someone standing with a camera. Was it hidden cameras? But no two shots were the same. 

As plausible as it was she may have a stalker, but since childhood!? And in this hellish world? Disgust, horror, and even terror filled her chest, and came out in a low weak moan. 

***

Marty was gone longer than he intended. In his paranoia, he went to a shopping district he had never visited before and had to find a store that sold 'normal' food; no cannibal meals nor anything laced with drugs. For clothing, he had to guess at her size and ignore the clerk's strange looks when he bought women's clothing without one present. 

Not to mention, he had to deal with a call from Shard. Ignoring it and sending it to voicemail may prompt him to visit an inconvenient visit to his apartment.

"What the fuck, man?" Shard's voice came across in a snarl over the phone. "What the fucking fuck? I waited for you, and you didn't show. I thought you got the shit kicked out of you."

A wave of guilt rolled over him. Of all the people he knew in Hell, Shard was the closest thing he had to someone who watched his back. "Listen, something came up . . ."

"Glimt said he gave what he owed to you and then you took off with the money. Now Tony Shark is pissed. Where's his money?"

"Don’t worry, I still got it." 

"I'm coming over."

"No!" Marty said with a desperate sharp note in his voice. "We'll meet at Licker's later, and I'll give you the money then."

There was a long pause from the other end, and then Shard's voice came across suspicious. "Marty, what the hell is going on? This ain't like you."

"I'll explain later," Marty said, checking the time and wincing at how long he's been gone. "I got to go. Tell Tony he'll get his money today."

He hung up before Shard could ask any more questions, set the phone to silent, and went back to his apartment. He hadn't meant to take advantage of Tony's money, but there had been no time when he learned of I.M.P's assignment to kill Lizzie.

**Before: Pentagram City**

The drinks weren't that good, but they didn't have to be. His senses were dulling, dampening the sadness that clung to him like oil. Isolated in a booth, hat tilted over his face, he nursed from a beer glass and stared at his phone. Some days, the memories gripped him with melancholy hands, and he drowned his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle as he had done in life. On the table before him was his phone with a lock screen image of Lizzie toasting with a wine glass at a party. It was his favorite image of her as an adult as it was a face on picture of her being happy and carefree as he remembered her when she was a toddler. 

For a hundred dollars, Sinners could see their still living loved ones for one minute via a Peeking Mirror. They were allowed to take pictures with their phones or cameras for keepsakes. It was booked up for weeks to months at a time, but he booked whenever he could despite the mood it put him in when he left the Peeking Mirror. 

He knew reminiscing didn't help him forget his old life, but the thought of never seeing her again, even if it was only through the Peeking Mirror, was too painful. Lizzie had been his baby girl, the only good thing he ever brought into the world. If he concentrated, he could recall the warmth of tiny soft hands squeezing his fingers, little feet walking across his back when he played with her on the floor, and hearing her bell-like voice calling him Daddy. The Peeking Mirror didn't allow sound to carry through, but he could guess what it sounded like now. Maybe soft like a little girl, or maybe smooth like a grown woman's?

A high pitch voice shrieked into his ear, "Hiya, Marty! I gotcher money, just like I said!"

"Holy fuck, Glimt!" Marty growled, nearly spilling his beer. "What the fuck are you doing here!?"

Glimt actually drew back as if expecting a blow and offered a sheepish grin. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare ya."

"Like you could scare me," Marty snorted, baring his teeth. No one paid his outburst much mind as screams and shouts were as common in Hell as gunshots, crashes, and explosions. "Gimme the money before I break off your other horn."

"Sure, sure, here," Glimt fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, which Marty snatched from his hand and began counting. 

When he finished, Marty nodded approvingly. "It's all there. Good, you can keep the horn, you little puke . . .don't touch that!"

Glimt had picked up Marty's phone and was eyeing the image of Liz. It fell him his hands and clattered across the table with Lizzie's face still on the screen. The imp backed away as Marty was standing to throttle him. "Sorry, sorry! I saw her before and wondered why ya got a pic of her. . ."

"W-wait, you . . you saw her before?" Marty stopped with his talons inches from Glimt's throat. Did someone else in Hell know Lizzie from when they were alive? "Where?"

"Uh . . .ya know about that job that I said paid good?" Glimt gulped, his amber eyes switching between Marty and the image of Lizzie. 

Marty’s eyes narrowed into tight slits, so only the barest hint of blue peeked out in his dark face. "What about it?"

"It's a courier job. Sometimes I get bored on the trip and look through the messages . . .I know how to reseal them so no one knows . . .this chick's picture was in one of the messages."

A finger of fear stroked Marty’s spine as his hand squeezed Glimt's shoulder, his claw tips digging through the shirt and into red flesh. "What was it about?"

If an imp could go utterly white in terror, Marty was witnessing it now. He had to give Glimt a few shakes to get him talking again. "It . . .it was a hit order . . .I took it to Imp City . . .to I.M.P."

"No . . ." he released Glimt, his world spiraling from him. He was aware of the Immediate Murder Professionals, a what their profession entailed. And they were going after Lizzie. . .his Lizzie . . .why? He resumed his grasp on Glimt before the frightened imp could slip away and hauled him forward, nose inches from his. "Who the fuck wants her dead?"

"I don't know! I only take the package where they tell me to. They never say who it's from!"

"You're lying . . ." Marty hissed viciously, claws biting into Glimt's flesh, drawing beads of blood. “You read the message! So you must know . . .” 

"I read a lotta messages! I don’t remember every word! You can beat me up, but I can't tell ya something I don't know!"

"How long ago did you deliver the message?" Marty's heart was racing; his mind almost numb to the terror clawing at him. 

"I delivered it yesterday."

Marty stood, pushing the imp out of the way, and shoving the wad of cash and phone into his pockets as he went. Imp City was a few hours away, but he would have to maneuver through Pentagram City traffic first, and that would take time. 

There was no time to run back to his apartment for his gun so he would have to use Glimt’s payment to purchase a gun on the way. Marty gave little thought that he was using Tony Shark’s money for his own purpose as the only thing that matter was saving his daughter’s life. 

  
  


**Now: Pentagram City**

Since the apartment seemed to be one piece, he assumed that Lizzie was still asleep and safe. . . that is until he tried to open the bedroom door and found it locked.

"Lizzie?" 

Only silence answered him, but he could hear movement on the other side of the door..

"Lizzie?" He called a bit louder. Should he break open the door? He was strong enough to take it off the hinges, but he didn't wish to frighten her.

"Where am I?" Her voice was smooth like an adult woman's, but still had a familiar chime he recalled from her childhood. 

“You’re somewhere safe.” 

"Safe? With monsters out there?"

"Did you . . .?"

"I looked out the window."

“Oh . . .uh . . .it’s . . .dammit, uh . . .”

"Just tell me where I am. No need to sound like a monkey to avoid answering my question." The voice now carried a familiar ring of command. 

Yep, she was just like her mother. "You're in Hell."

There was another long silence. Marty let the silence hang between them as she absorbed this tidbit of information. Her voice was still strong, but there was a distinct quaver in it now. "Am . . . Am I dead?"

"No! No, you're not dead. You’re still alive, but I’m not sure how you got to Hell. I was hoping you would tell me."

He was standing with his hands on the door, wishing he was on the other side of it so he could see how she was taking the news. Definitely in shock for one thing, but what about physically? She might have a concussion from when she hit her head. 

"I don't remember much." Her voice was closer, just on the other side of the door. "Only bits and pieces of what happened in my apartment."

"Okay, it may come back to you later. It's not important right now."

"I-I saw the . . . armoire. It has pictures of me."

"Shit." Marty hissed to himself. He had been in such a hurry to collect the money hidden in the drawer of the armoire he had forgotten to chain it shut. Having Lizzie back in his life completely threw off his routine. "You weren't supposed to see that."

"Yeah, uh, I figured it would be something nobody was supposed to see." There was an accusatory note in her voice.

"Goddammit, sweetheart, I'm not a stalker!"

"Oh sure,” Lizzie’s voice dripped with sour sarcasm. “Just because you keep a bunch of pictures of me locked in a closet like a pagan altar and kidnapping me doesn't mean you're a stalker. It's an easy mistake to make."

This was too familiar to be real, and just like before, when he got into a war of words with her mother, he wanted to bang his head on the wall. "Baby, I didn't kidnap you."

"Do not use terms of endearment with me. I'm not your 'baby' or 'sweetheart.' I don't know who the hell you are."

She was too much like her mother. The feisty quality was what attracted him to Mary, but it was infuriating when directed at him. Drawing a deep breath, he started, "Lizzie, I'm your . . ."

"Only my mother called me Lizzie."

"I was the one who started calling you Lizzie!" He shouted, then forced himself to calm down as he did not want to reveal his identity in anger. "I'm your father, Martin Roberts."

The silence that followed was the whine after a gunshot. After waiting several minutes, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"I think so. I might have almost passed out."

"It's a lot to take in."

"No shit . . .I - ah, gotta ask. Why are you in Hell?"

Marty said gently, "I wasn't a good man, hon."

"Well, I got that from when you abandoned Mom and me," Lizzie retorted, with only a hint of strain in her voice. "I meant how did you die?"

This time Marty smacked his head in the door. What the hell did Alice tell her!? That he left!? That's not what happened at all.

A cold voice in the back of his mind asked, _But do you want her to know what really happened?_

"I went to a bar and got wasted," he said. "Passed out on the way home during a blizzard and froze to death. You didn't know?"

"We had no idea you were dead."

He chalked it up that some bum or asshole filched his wallet before someone called the cops for the dead body on the street. Just his luck to be buried somewhere as John Doe. 

"Can . . .can I come in?" He couldn't believe he was asking to enter what had been his bedroom for nearly twenty years. 

"No," came the curt reply. "I . . . What do you look like? Do you look human?"

He drew a slow deep breath and let it down slowly, his tongue touching over his sharp teeth. "I'm not human anymore. Sinners sent to Hell turn into demons. You wouldn't recognize me."

"I don't think I'd recognize you if you were human. Just . . .give me some time . . .I don't think I'm mentally ready for any more shocks."

"Okay." This wasn't the reunion he would have wished for. Hell, he was lucky to have any sort of reunion with her at all. "I . . .I brought you something to eat. It's normal food, I promise."

"What is . . .not normal food?"

"You don't want to know. I bought you some clothes too."

"Thanks."

He left the food and clothes in bags near the door and stood back. The door opened a crack, and in a rustle of plastic Lizzie dragged them inside.

***

She was in Hell. Actual Hell that made itself apparent each time she peeked out the window. Bright red sky with a glowing pentagram, the monstrous citizens were walking the streets and the macabre buildings with sharp and distorted angles that would make an architect weep. And eyes that blinked and seemed to watch the going ons of the pedestrians. Liz ducked away when a large eye on the building across the street blinked at her. Above all, her father was in the next room, a man she had never gotten to know, and he was a demon now. That drew a blank as if her mind held up a stop sign before her psyche crumbled any further.

She didn't recognize the brand on the chips or soda bottle. On the package was a smiling monstrosity beaming at its own bag of chips, and she couldn't help wondering if it was artwork or an actual photo of the mascot. The chips were okay, a bit spicier than she liked, but they made her feel better . . . maybe better isn't the right word, but more solid. Her hands no longer shook, which she took as a positive sign.

The clothing was meant for a younger woman. It was a black crop top and black pants with lattice along the sides from thigh to ankle. Being a jogger, she was confident that she had the legs for the pants but did not have the stomach for the crop top. Maybe if she did crunches for months beforehand, she might feel differently.

Alright, so far, she hadn't awakened from this crazy dream, and the clothing on her skin felt real enough. She had eaten, dressed, and had time to process, now it was time to move forward. Liz opened the door and went to see her father for the first time in over 30 years. 


	4. Arc 1: Welcome to Hell - A List of Suspects

Marty was nursing from a beer mug on the couch when the door opened, and his daughter stood in the doorway, staring at him. Coughing, he set the beer down, almost spilling it in his case to stand. He tried to appear as harmless as possible, but damn, he had seen himself in a mirror, he knew what he looked like.

"Are you a wolf or a lizard?" She asked tentatively. 

"I'm both," he replied. 

"I can see your tail. It's moving."

The prehensile tail licked the floor near his ankle. He stilled it and tucked it behind him. "Yeah . . .it can move."

"Why are you a wolf-lizard man thing?"

"Sinners turn into demons when they are sent to Hell."

She chewed her lower lip as she visually absorbed him from his black wolf ears atop a mope of black hair, much like her own. His face was long with a lizard’s snout and gray skin and scales along with the tail long enough to touch the floor when he stood. The other thing that marked him none human was his eyes which were cerulean pupils amid a pitch blade sclera. 

"So if there's Hell, then there must be a Heaven, right?" Lizzie asked, eyes blinking rapidly at him. 

"Oh yeah, you can see it in the sky on a clear day." He hoped it was something positive that would make her feel better, but it had the opposite effect. 

"Oh God!" she said, breaking down into tears. "I thought I was ready, but I'm not ready for this at all."

"No one is, Lizzie, no one is ever ready to come down here." It hurt to see Lizzie so upset but didn't dare move to comfort her. It would kill him to see her cringe from him. 

"If I'm not dead, then I should be able to go home, right?" Lizzie said, composing herself. She scrubbed her face with both hands, getting a handle on her emotions. 

"Before we get to that, I need to know what happened first," he sat down, hoping to appear less threatening to her, and took care to keep his tail hidden from her sight. "Did some Imps attack you?"

"Imps?"

"They look like red devils with horns and tails."

"Oh, yeah, I saw them . . .one of the bastards was trying to steal my toilet paper."

  
  


**Before: The Living World**

Sleep never came easy for Liz. There was so much work she could be doing instead of sleeping. If it weren't for Margo pressuring her to rest and her doctor's scathing lectures on self-care, she would stay up all night on Red Bull and coffee to write up reports, reply to emails, and research laws and permit zones. It was rare when she had an evening off to destress and lose herself in the nonsensical world of sitcoms where family issues were easily resolved within 30 minute segments and everything ended with love and understanding. If only real life reflected those silly shows. 

After showering, Liz dressed in her favorite pajamas and reclined on the couch with Ben & Jerry's ice cream and bowl of popcorn and tried not to think of the work she could be doing. After a few episodes of a harmless sitcom, she fell asleep on the couch which saved her life.

As the clock edged towards midnight, a bright fiery glow slashed across the floor from the open bedroom door. This was followed quickly by two sharp hisses and a soft  _ pwit pwit.  _

"Shit! She's not there! Who the fuck isn't asleep at this time of night!"

"We're not, sir."

"Shut up, Moxxie. Make yourself useful and find the bitch. I'm going for the toilet paper. Loonie says we're low."

Shapes slipped from the door. One of them held a smoking gun with a silencer screwed into the barrel. Another held a serrated knife which gleamed like a malicious grin. And the third carried a bag for the toilet paper. 

On the couch, Liz scratched her nose in her sleep, lashes flickering against her cheeks as she slowly woke up, but not quite. She was in the surreal space between being in a deep sleep and awake. The tv was still on, and the sitcom tv series was still streaming, casting a dim light over her. Sleeping in bed would be more comfortable, but she was too tired to move right now. On the channel was a couple arguing about the husband doing something without discussing it with the wife and not understanding why she was so angry. Now it was getting fascinating as this red devil thing walked onto the set with an armful of toilet paper. 

She never figured this show to have any supernatural or science fiction element. It might be one of those silly dream episodes where anything goes. The animation of the creature was very well done, almost a 3D effect. It was as if it were really looking at her. 

"Hey! I found her!"

Wow, that was pretty loud. The creature was designed with a creative flair with a long black coat, black and white curved horns, and mostly red face with a white eye, like a cat's markings. And it was holding an open pack of toilet paper that was, oddly, the same brand of toilet paper that she bought the other day. It seemed eerily familiar. 

Wait . . .now the creature was holding a knife and seemed closer. 

The coffee table shifted as the creature banged its knee on the edge. 

"Fuck!" 

Wait, there's no way they'd allowed the F-bomb on a daytime sitcom. 

From her years of self-defense classes, she was taught to act, not react, and use her surroundings to protect herself. She grabbed the first thing that came to hand and flung the bowl of popcorn which she flung into its face. It was stunned long enough for her to throw the blanket over its head, where it fell into a cursing pulsing heap. Now fully awake from the adrenaline surge, she scrambled over the arm of the couch as the thing struggled with the heavy blanket. 

"Goddammit! Shit!" 

She needed to get downstairs to the lobby to call the police. Her feet slapped the carpet as she dodged around the dining table only to hit her hip on a chair hard enough to throw her off balance. A gunshot blew out her eardrums, and a black hole appeared in the door where she would have been a second ago if the chair had not been in her way. 

"Dammit! I missed!"

Behind her was a second creature, this one smaller than the first wearing a tux and had the same black and white horns with a red face framed by white hair. It was holding a rifle which it was cocking for another shot. Liz grabbed the chair and threw it with all her might. The creature only had a moment to shriek before the chair collided with its small frame, throwing it and the rifle across the floor. 

"Hey! That's my husband!"

How many were there!? A third one was coming at her with what looked like a machete. This one was in black clothing with dark hair and two small horns sprouting from the head. 

There was no way she was going to make it the door, unlock and open it before this thing was on her. She could barricade herself in the bedroom and escape through the window. Her cellphone was also in there, recharging on the nightstand. Sprinting as she had never done before in her life, she ran for the bedroom door.

"Hey, hey, hey! Stop her! She's going for the portal!"

She burst through the door, slamming it shut, locking it in one motion, and went for her phone on the nightstand. Something caught the edge of her foot, and she was pitched forward. There was a ring of white surrounding what looked like a conference table and chairs. 

Running so fast, she was unable to stop herself and tripped which sent her through the circle of fire. There was a flash of heat and then nothing as her face smashed on the edge of the conference table.

  
  


**Now: Pentagram City**

"So that explains why I found you passed out on the floor," Marty said once her story had ended. 

Lizzie was sitting at the table, needing to take a seat while she recounted the attempt on her life. Her hands were shaking, and she kept squeezing and rubbing them to ease the trembling. He thought her actions odd until he remembered that being almost murdered wasn't a common experience in the living world for most humans.

"Do you . . . want some coffee?"

"I think I could use some."

Unfortunately, most of his brands carried the names of 'Bitter as the Blackest Night' and 'Tears of Orphans,' so he chose the former and started the coffee maker. As the old thing began to bubble in a cantankerous manner, he returned to his spot on the couch, maintaining a respectful distance from his rattled daughter. 

"I went to I.M.P's office to stop them from killing you," he began his side of the story which wasn’t as exciting as Liz’s. "That place didn't have any security - I guess they didn't think anyone would interfere. There was someone there, but she was in the bathroom yelling for toilet paper, so I jammed a chair under the doorknob and looked around. I found you on the floor in that conference room and got you outta there. I didn't see anyone following us, so they shouldn't know where you are."

"Jesus, why? Why did they do that?" Lizzie clenched her hands against her head, shaking her head. "They fucking tried to kill me."

She was still in shock, and what she needed more than coffee was to lie down and get more rest, but there was too much to talk about. And he doubted Lizzie would rest without her questions answered. 

"They're called I.M.P, but their full name is Immediate Murder Professionals," he said, raking his claws against the back of his neck, ill at ease at talking about the people who were out to murder his daughter. "They go into the living world to kill targets for clients."

"Holy shit," Lizzie breathed. Her eyes darted as she struggled to absorb that dreadful piece of information. "S-so . . .someone that wants me dead hired them. Who?"

"That's the thing . . ." This wasn't going to be pleasant to talk about. "I don't know, but you might." 

He didn't like the distance between them. If he were going to help her and keep her safe, she would have to get over his appearance. Marty rose from the couch and went to the chair opposite Lizzie. He was still taller than her by a good head and shoulders even when sitting. She regarded him tearfully, but there was no sign of fear or disgust which he relieved not to see. He wanted to hold her hand, but that would be pushing his luck.

"Baby, did someone hate you before they died?" He said as gently as he could. "I.M.P is usually hired by demons that have grudges against humans they knew in life."

"I'm sorry . . .I just . . ." Lizzie drew a short breath, her blue eyes closing for a moment. "I just don't want to believe that God would allow demons to do this."

Sighing, Marty said, "I honestly don't think God pays attention to what's going on in the living world. Just try to think of who it could be. If I can get a name, I know some people that can find them. I'll make them withdraw the money, and the I.M.P. will leave you alone."

Burying her face into her hands, Lizzie moaned. "God, I can name about ten people that would happily dance on my grave, but they're all alive."

"Likely, it won't be anyone who died recently. Everyone in Hell starts off with nothing," Marty said, thinking about when he first arrived. Alone, homeless, penniless, without any idea of what he was going to do other than drink what was left in tossed out bottles behind bars and nightclubs. "I.M.P isn't cheap, so whoever did this has money to spend on revenge."

Lizzie was quiet for a long time with her hands covering her face. Marty waited patiently, giving her time to sort out her emotions. Finally, she lowered her hands and looked him directly in the eye. 

"Agnes Fuller," Lizzie said. "She passed away about five or six years ago. I remember the day because I brought a cake to the office to celebrate."

"Oo-kay," Marty said, a bit taken aback. "And she hated you?"

"Oh, yeah, she hated my guts, alright," Lizzie replied. "For twenty years, she ran a foster home and fostered over a hundred children. Everyone thought she was the mother of the year. . .that is until I found what she was doing to those poor kids."

For the first time, Lizzie's voice no longer carried the tremor of fear or shock, and there was now a hot flame in her eyes. Marty noticed her hands curling into tight fists as she recounted the story of Agnes Fuller. "She forced the girls to sit in a bathtub full of ice water for hours to 'freeze out the lust in their bodies.' And she made the boys, even boys as young as three years old go to bed with clothespin on their penises so they wouldn’t have wet dreams."

"Ow," Marty said, fighting the urge to cover his junk with his hands protectively. "And she hated you?"

"Oh, yes, she did," Lizzie said with relish. "I not only shut that place down but tracked down all the people she fostered and convinced them to file charges of sexual abuse against her. The old bitch was going to spend her twilight years in prison before God finally struck her down with a heart attack. I was almost disappointed because I was going to love seeing her raked over the coals in a trial."

"Alright, so Agnes Fuller. I'll go . . ." Marty was starting to rise, but Lizzie stopped him.

"And there was Brian Hartly," She began. "He left buckets of rocks in front of women's health clinics to encourage people to throw rocks at the women going inside. He would leave a note on the buckets that said, 'Stone the Murderers'."

"Did they?" Marty asked, sitting down.

"Most didn't, but some did. A poor girl was walking to her car when a rock hit her in the face and lost an eye. She was only a member of the staff, not even a doctor. So I made an example of him and sent a message to all the churches and religious groups that like to harass women going through the hardest decision in their lives."

_ It's like she's gloating _ , he thought.  _ I can imagine a guy bragging about how he beat some guys up with the same energy. _

"What did you do? Get him arrested?" Marty asked. Did the guy die in prison? 

"Can't press charges against someone dropping off buckets of rocks. There are no laws against that, and he didn't put the rocks in the protestors' hands. But I still got the bastard." Liz was almost glowing with pride. "I convinced the girl who lost her eye and anyone injured from the rocks to launch a joint lawsuit against Brian Hartly's church on the grounds they encouraged acts of terrorism and back then that was a trigger word for the media. It made national headlines, and the church settled out of court and kicked Hartly out as a member. After that, people harassed him until he got hit by a bus a couple of years ago. Though, I think he may have jumped in front of it on purpose."

"And he hated you personally?" Marty asked, a bit stunned.

"Oh, he sent the office plenty of letters about how I was doing the devil's work, and I was going to Hell . . ." she paused and looked around. "I guess he was right . . ."

Marty gave a dry laugh. "Okay, Agnes Fuller and Brian Hartly. I think I can remember those names."

Marty stood up.

"Wait, add Tim Rathel to that list."

Marty sat down. "Who's Tim Rathel?"

"An asshole I caught embezzling from the charity I was working with. I investigated his background and discovered he has a long history of stealing from charity groups. We had enough evidence to put him in prison, but he shot himself in the head before we could take it to trial. That was three years ago, I think?"

"Okay, Agnes Fuller, Brian Hartly, and Tim Rathel," Marty said slowly. "Just sit tight, and I'll be back . . ."

"Oh, and there is . . ." Lizzie began.

"Sweetheart! What the fuck did you do in the living world? Collect enemies like they're goddamn trading cards?" 

  
  
  



	5. Arc 1: Welcome to Hell - Oni's Noodles

After Marty left, Liz tried the coffee, and it was the bitterest thing she had ever put in her mouth. Bent over the kitchen sink, she rinsed her mouth out several times, but the taste still lingered on her tongue. Once recovered, she went into the bathroom to examine the state of her cheek. It was swollen with the cut scabbed over, but it would leave a nasty bruise for a few days. She was lucky it wasn't her eye or head that took the impact. There was no first aid nor antiseptic to clean it. Maybe they didn't need those in Hell. A wet rag would have to do.

After cleaning the injury the best she could, Liz then cleaned the apartment, gathering the clothes into a pile at the bathroom door as she couldn't find a hamper or basket to deposit them. Since the garbage bin was overbrimming and she couldn't find more trash bags, any garbage went into empty fast food bags and set near the door. Eerily, one of the bags had an image of a demon boy hungrily biting into a burger where a few fingers were poking from beneath the bun. With a shudder, Liz turned the bag around, so she didn't have to see it. 

Maybe it was intrusive to clean his apartment, but she needed something familiar and productive to do, or the anxiety and fear were going to eat her up. There were no cleaning supplies, so she supplemented it with a wet rag to wipe down the table and counters and then made the bed. She made a point to close the armoire as it still unnerved her to see it.

Should she trust Martin Roberts . . .her father? 

It was such a strange concept that she had a father now. She had spent her life without one and she never saw the need for one. While she had been curious about what it would have been like to have a father, she always had her mother until she passed away a few years ago. Mom never liked talking about her father so Liz always assumed he was out there somewhere living another life with another family or was some deadbeat living off the government. What would Mom have thought if she knew Dad had been dead for years?

Whoa . . .did she just think of him as Dad? 

***

"Ah fuck," Marty moaned as he pulled into Liker's parking lot. 

Shard was already waiting for him outside, fur bristling around his neck and shoulders in a clear sign that he was pissed off. If it weren't that he would receive more shit later, Marty would have turned around and gone back to the apartment. But he did need Shard's help.

Shard stalked across the parking lot and opened the door and threw himself in before the car came to a complete stop. "Alright, Marty, let's hear the million dollar excuse I'm gonna hafta have to feed to Tony Shark."

"Shard, I can't. . ."

"I swear to fucking God and Satan, if you say you can't tell me, I'll punch your head so far down into your gut so far you can give yourself a blow job. Now, what the hell is going on?"

Shit, he could never put anything past Shard. He was too smart and knew him too well. "My daughter is in Hell."

"Shit . . ." Shard breathed, his outrage deflating as his fur laid flat on his shoulders. With his fury, he seemed smaller now, but no less imposing with his presence. 

"She has no idea how this place works," Marty said, taking some relief that Shard had calmed down. 

"No one does when they first get here," Shard said. "Jesus, I can see why you took off, but you shouldn't have taken Tony Shark's money. You shoulda called me first."

"I was in a hurry." Something was off-kilter about this exchange, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Hey, no man wants to see his kid damned to Hell," Shard said, understandably. "I'm just glad none of mine made it down here."

Marty stared in confusion until it finally clicked into place. Shard thought Lizzie was a Sinner sent to Hell like them. Well, the best lies are the ones mixed with truth. 

"I need a few days . . ." Marty said slowly, testing the waters.

"I'll smooth things over with Tony and tell him you need some time with your kid," Shard said, stiffly. "But you may need to pay some dues later."

Paying the dues were either a carrying out distasteful job, taking a beating, or having an eye plucked out. Marty wasn't afraid of the former two, but the latter, even though it wasn't a lasting injury for a demon, would still hurt like shit and an inconvenience until the orb grew back. "I also need to find a few people. Lizzie knew them in life so they would have died within the last ten years."

"Wow, she hasn’t been in Hell a day and she's already reconnecting with old friends," Shard said, actually impressed. "Okay, I got contacts I could pass the names to, but do you have the money to pay them? And I don't mean with Tony Shark's money."

"I have the money, and I really appreciate this." He knew Shard would always have his back. He was lucky to have him as a partner. 

"You're a dedicated father for a demon," Shard said, taking a cigarette pack from his sleeve and drawing one out. "Where is she staying?"

"With me for now," Marty said, uneasily. 

He didn't notice Shard's hand on his knee until the claw tips pricked through his pants' fabric. Shard drew a drag on the cigarette and blew it out slow into Marty's face. "Do you need to head back now?"

Now he had to pay his dues to Shard . . .which wasn't unpleasant. "I got some time."

Shard's hand slid up Marty's thigh, the fabric whispering against his furry palm. Marty's hands tighten on the steering wheel as Shard did wonderful things between his legs. 

"I'll. . . I'll find us an alley," Marty said between short breaths. 

***

An hour later, Marty returned to the apartment with the smell of Shard's cigarettes clinging to his clothes and the taste of his tongue in his mouth. Sex with Shard always left him feeling loose as if every muscle had been stretched and left him with a warm lassitude that could lull him to sleep if he laid down. However, the warmth vanished when he opened the door and saw Lizzie sitting on the couch watching porn.

"Christ, Lizzie!" He cried at the image of a female demon being spitted between two male partners. 

Lizzie gave him a neutral look. "There's porn on every other channel, and it's not even pay per view."

"Then why aren’t ya watchin’ the channels with no porn?" he stammered, carrying bags to the table, his face burning with embarrassment and something new. Was it shame? Or anger that she would watch something like that?

"Excuse me, I'm 35 years old," Lizzie said, brows knitting together. "I've watched porn before and I even," she made a mocking gasp. ". . . had sex! Oh no! I guess I'm going to Hell."

"That's not funny," Marty said, shooting her a hard look. "Seriously, you couldn't find anything else to watch?"

"There was a news program where this lady in a red dress bit this guy wearing a gas mask," Lizzie said, turning off the television. "And there was a cooking show where the chef was grilling body parts. The porn seemed more normal than that, and I wasn't watching it for the reason you think. It didn't turn me on."

Marty took a deep, deep breath and let it out slowly through his snout. He turned to Lizzie and spoke in a soft, pleading tone. "Sweetheart, the last time I saw you, you were two years old and in diapers. I do not want to think of you in any sexual state whatsoever."

Crossing her arms, Lizzie appeared to consider it from his point of view and nodded. "Alright, fair enough. I was just curious."

In the hopes of changing the topic, he opened a bag and took out cartons of noodles. "I brought dinner."

"It's. . .not people, right?" Lizzie looked at the bag, but it was an innocuous image of a box of noodles. 

"Nope, no people," he promised. Glancing around the room, he saw the clutter had been cleared away, and his clothes stacked near the bathroom door. "Did you clean?" 

"A little bit, yeah. Is that alright?"

He was never one for housekeeping and figured if it lay on the floor, then it was easier to find when he needed it. And he only took his laundry to the cleaners down the street when all his clothes had a bad smell to them. Alice had been the one who kept their home clean and laundry fresh. 

"Yeah, the apartment needed cleaning. Thanks." He appreciated the gesture but didn't want to read too much into it. 

Liz sat opposite him and poked at the noodles with a chopstick. Once she was satisfied, it wasn't people, she drew some into her mouth and chewed. "Not bad. It's actually good."

"It's a new place a few blocks away. Oni's Noodles, they call it."

"Uh . . ." she started but paused, looking momentarily uncomfortable. "I . . .I gotta ask. Where is the . . .torture? And the fire and brimstone? I've seen some wild things, but mostly it looks like people living their lives. I mean, they’re demons, but it’s so similar to Earth. If it weren't for the pentagram in the sky and the big Welcome to Hell sign, I'd think this place was another world." 

"The fire, brimstone, and torture are out there," Marty assured her. "I was surprised when I first got here, but Hell is really about shitty people doing shitty things to each other."

"And all the nice people go to Heaven and do nice things for each other?" Lizzie asked thoughtfully.

"Dunno about Heaven. I imagine it's a huge suburban neighborhood like the old family sitcoms like Leave it to Beaver or Brady Brunch with a milkman and everything."

"You don't know?" Lizzie asked.

Marty shrugged his broad shoulders. "Nope. Heaven and Hell don't exactly talk. I think the leaders have a hotline or something. By the way, I got somebody looking into the names you gave me. He'll let me know when he finds something."

"What do we do when we find out who . . . who it is?" Lizzie said, not able to bring herself to state 'who wants me dead.' 

"Firstly, I beat the shit out of them for sending I.M.P after you," Marty stated, his snout almost wrinkling from a snarl. "Then I make them understand that if anything happens to you, they're going to spend eternity being torn apart every day by me."

"Wow," Lizzie looked almost impressed, if not a little scared. "I thought you were going to say kill them."

Marty thought back to the angel blade hidden away in the armoire. That was an option, but he didn't want to advertise that he had it unless it was necessary. "Killing demons is difficult because we're hard to hurt and can regenerate. I've been stabbed, run over, burned, and dropped off the top of a building since I've been damned, but I regenerated every time. Hurts like a bitch time, though." 

Then he recalled what he also bought before getting the food. "I got you something." From his pocket, he set a phone on the table and scooted it to her. "I already programmed it and put my contact information in it."

Lizzie picked up the black phone and stared at it. "Hellphone?"

Shrugging, he said, "Almost everyone in Hell uses one. It'll let us stay in touch while I'm out."

Chewing her lower lip, Lizzie poked at the bottom of the carton. "How about I go with you?"

With eyebrows raised, Marty shook his head in absolute refusal. "Fuck no. You are staying here." 

"I'm going to go crazy if I stay here all day and not know what's going on."

"But you'll be safe," he said firmly, setting his carton down before he crushed it between his large hands. "You have no fucking clue how dangerous it is out there! Especially for you! You can't heal like us. If someone stabs you, you'll bleed out because, guess what, there's no hospitals or doctors in Hell!"

"Then what happens if I'm here alone and the I.M.P find me?" Lizzie challenged, setting her own carton down. "They're going to be looking for me because they can't collect until I'm dead. I barely got away from them, and I feel safer with you."

Her words touched him, and he grasped for a good response but found nothing to say. She had no idea how dangerous Pentagram City could be for her and the words were failing him to make her understand. 

Liz continued, pressing her argument. "I'm not going to be a cliche 'independent fearless female' and say I can protect myself," Lizzie said as she made quotation marks with her fingers. "I'm not going to fool myself like that. Going out there scares the hell - I mean scares the shit out of me, but what scares me more is waiting here and not knowing what's going on."

Every paternal instinct in him said no, but all too well, he could imagine finding the apartment door broken into and Lizzie dead on the floor with a crimson slash across her throat. It made his stomach wrench and throat tighten to the point he was almost choking.

"Alright," he said, then pointed a long claw at her. His voice was heavy with authority that broker with no contradiction or argument. "You do what I say and stick close to me."

"I will," Lizzie promised, nodding.

"I mean it," Marty said, his eyes locking with hers. “No matter what you see or what you hear, you do not leave my side for a second. And speak to no one. No one can know you’re still alive . . .it wouldn’t be good if anyone found out."

"Alright, Dad, I get it. I do what you tell me, and I talk to no one."

Did she just . . .? 

She was looking away, her expression unreadable. Her fingertips tapped a tattoo on the surface, and she returned her gaze to him. "Thank you for saving my life and . . . for doing this for me when you don't have to."

Overwhelming emotions billowed through him. It was true that nothing was forcing him to help her, but the concept of not coming to her aid was inconceivable. "You're my daughter, Lizzie. I'd do anything for you.”


	6. Arc 1: Welcome to Hell - On the Road

It was a fitful night in Hell for Liz. When she could sleep, she dreamed of a knife gleaming in the dark at her. More than once, she woke up and terrified she would see an imp with a raised knife. Chills trailed down her spine whenever she thought of how close the imp had come to killing her. If she hadn't woken up in time . . .

For the second time, or possibly the third time, she rose from bed to peek at her father in the main room sleeping on the couch. Yep, her father was still a six foot wolf-lizard hybrid complete with the ears poking through his mop of black hair and long tail hanging over the couch arm. She doubted any child who imagined reuniting with an estranged father could have foreseen such a reunion. 

Despite it all, seeing him gave her comfort. She may have only known him for only a few hours, but she believed that if anyone tried to come through the door to hurt her, they would have to contend with him first. It was like having a loyal dog standing guard outside the door. 

Or more like having a protective father? 

And she had called him Dad earlier. The word had naturally slipped from her lips without thought or hesitation. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. 

_ Was that such a bad thing? He's helping me without asking for anything In return. Nothing he's done has set off any red flags; he's respected my boundaries, hasn't lied in any way I can see, nor has he displayed any controlling behavior. Well, he didn’t want me watching porn, but his reaction seened natural. _

Was she looking for a reason not to trust him? Yes, because she looked at everyone from all angles. It was what made her good at her job by sniffing out exploiters and abusers. Granted, she's been wrong before and made some faulty judgment calls, but 8 out of 10, she hit the nail. Was this the usual eight times that she was right about someone or the two times she was wrong? 

***

He awoke to a buzzing near his ear. Slapping at it only resulted in his phone falling from where he had laid it next to his head. Sitting up, Marty fumbled for the phone and read the text. 

**Shard** : Brian Hartly was last seen heading for Lirking mill.

Marty had to search his memory for a bit to recall that Lirkin mill stood nearly ten miles east of Pentagram City limits. It was responsible for clearing the land for the city's expansion centuries ago, but now lay abandoned in a massive swath of deforested valley. There was nothing out there, so why would anyone go there? 

The bedroom door had been left open, which was odd as he recalled Lizzie had closed it when she retired to bed. Through the door he could see her still asleep curled in her side in a fetal position with the covers tucked around her. It brought back memories of baby Lizzie sleeping with her little rump in the air, and a tiny perfect hand closed beneath her chin as if deep in thought.

What wasn't perfect was the cut on her cheek, which had bloomed into a fresh bruise. If she had been a demon, it would have long healed overnight. He grimaced at how it was a dead give away that she lacked a demon's fast regenerative ability. If anyone saw it, they could claim she was a slow healer. Some demons heal faster than others, after all. She might be overlooked as a weaker demon . . . Or paint her as an easy target. 

To put his mind at ease, or to have something to do other than watch her sleep, he made coffee. While the coffee maker bubbled and dripped black liquid into the pot, his thoughts remained with Lizzie. What was he thinking in allowing her to go with him? It was too late now. If he changed his mind about it, then Lizzie would take after her mother and verbally tear him a new one. 

He must have been in deep thought for so long that he didn't notice Lizzie approaching from behind, yawning and stretching her arms. "Mornin'."

Turning around sent him back to 1984 as he beheld a picture perfect replica of his wife, Alice. It was surreal enough to wonder if he had dreamed all of it. The end of their marriage, dying in the snow, and being in Hell. That maybe it had all been a terrible dream and this time he would not . . . 

"What's wrong, Dad?" 

Hearing her calling him that precious word again made his throat go tight. Warm memories of her bright blue eyes peering up at him where she sat on his knee and calling him Daddy made his eyes swim. 

"N-nothing. I'm just waking up." Looking away, he got control of his emotions. Everything he had done wouldn't so easily be undone. "Do you want some coffee?"

Making a face, Lizzie shook her head. "I'll pass."

"I got a text. I know where we can find Brian Hartly." The coffee light flicked off as it finished draining into the pot. He poured himself a cup and took a slow sip of the strong drink. “Go ahead and get dressed. We leave in about ten minutes.” 

  
  


***

Marty said she could help herself to whatever clothes he had in his closet, but she'd be lucky to find anything in her size. The clothing he gave her fitted, but she didn't feel comfortable going out without something else to cover her. It had been years since she was confident in her figure to wear a crop top and had never had the desire to show off her legs in lattice pants. Hell, they didn't even have those back when she was a young woman. 

One of Marty's heavy jackets would cover her, but the long sleeves extended past her hands and made her feel like a child playing dress-up with her father's clothes. There had to be something else she could wear. Stepping into the closet, pushing against the weight of heavy coats, she found something more her size. It was only noticeable because of the hot pink heart on the back. It was crumpled up on the floor, almost hidden by shoes tossed atop of it. 

Shaking it out, she could see it was a woman's coat with pink satin cuffs and lapels. It was meant for a taller person, but it fitted her nicely save for the strange sash in the middle which was long and thick like the sleeves. After some investigation, she realized it was an extra set of sleeves; the coat had been tailored for someone with four arms. With it being the only coat that fitted adequately, she wrapped the sleeves around her waist and tied them together into a sash. It covered her bare stomach and cinched at the waist, giving her more of an hourglass figure. 

As she studied herself in the bathroom mirror, she supposed even demons could get lonely in Hell, and her father was no exception. He had been dead for more than 30 years so there had been other companions after her mother. She wondered about the previous owner of the coat and wondered why they would leave behind such a beautiful coat.

When she came out wearing it, Marty blinked, opened his mouth as if to protest, but thought differently, "Glad you found something that fits."

Was his hesitation a sign of a bad break up? It wasn't her business to pry, nor did she want to know that much about her father's paramours. Or did she? 

Other than the smallest size boots he had (which were still several sizes too big for her), what completed her new outfit was the black scarf he wrapped around the lower half of her face to the point she felt like that little boy from A Christmas Story. 

"Won't this draw attention?"

Marty quirked an eyebrow. "Have you seen what people are wearing in Hell?"

He had a point as there were fashions from Victoria Era to the '80s and '90s. And everything was off kilter with a macabre twist with hats bearing eyes, or flowery outfits with sickly muted colors. Maybe a scarf wrapped around the head wouldn't stand out too much. 

"Got your phone?" Marty asked with a hand on the door. 

"Yeah, I have it in case we get separated." How long has it been since someone had parentally asked her that? And here she was struggling not to roll her eyes like an annoyed teenager.

"Wrong," Marty jabbed a sharp claw tip at her, almost poking the tip of her nose. "We are not going to get separated because you will stay with me at all times. And what are you going to say to other people?"

"Nothing because I'm not going to be talking to anyone," Lizzie sighed. 

"Exactly."

As much as Liz found the overprotectiveness suffocating, she wasn't going to complain as she appreciated the high regard he held for her safety. Second thoughts were creeping in that she should stay in the apartment, yet staying here and being scared for hours while she waited still wasn't ideal for her. It was better to be out there with Marty than it was to remain here alone. 

However, there was a problem neither he nor she had predicted. 

"Keep up," he hissed at her on the stairs. 

"Oh, sorry!" 

She had paused to stare at a bee woman with wings and antenna and a stinger protruding from the back of her red dress. The woman barely gave them a passing glance with large bulbous black eyes, her attention on the mail sifting through her carapace jointed hands. Liz hurried down the steps and joined Marty at the bottom and ignoring the sharp look from his dark and blue eyes, making her feel like a child that wandered off. 

And that pissed her off, but she wasn't angry with Marty. It was the annoying situation of being helpless and having no control in her situation. For years, Liz followed a routine schedule specified for whatever needed to be done that day: go to the office, meet with clients, speak with charity reps, go to court, and work late until Margo chased her home. Now, that control has been wrested from her. 

Marty laid a heavy hand on her shoulder and pulled her with him towards the lobby's doors. As her shoulder brushed his coat, the light around them shifted and molded. Liz starrf in stunned silence as Marty went invisible, and then her own hands disappeared as if a camouflaging curtain covered them. 

_ So this is how he got me out of the building.  _ Being invisible and in Marty's proximity gave her more comfort than she would have willingly admitted.

Marty’s car was like any vehicle she had seen in the Living World. Marty walked her to the passenger side and opened the door. He blocked the view of her until she was inside. The interior was like his apartment: messy with the evidence of many trips to fast-food restaurants with several empty bags and cups rattled around her feet.

Marty plucked a pamphlet trapped beneath a windshield wiper as he went around the car. Once he was inside, Liz said, "I didn't know you could turn invisible,"

"I think it's the lizard part of me," Marty said with a shrug as he settled into the car seat. He glanced at the pamphlet and made a face, wrinkling his snout like a dog snarling. "This shit, again?"

The window was rolled down, and as he was about to toss the pamphlet out, Liz reached for it, "Wait, I want to see it."

"It's nothing," Marty said dismissively, but handed it to her. 

On the front was a crayon drawing of a demon complete with a squiggle for a tail and thorn-like horns celebrating on a cloud beneath a rainbow. Above written in bold font letters was 'Redemption!' Unfolding the pamphlet revealed a colorful interior with more rainbows streaming along the edges with crayon demons gamboling at the corners.

**The Happy Hotel is open to all Sinners Seeking Redemption!**

**The humane answer to the overpopulation is real, and we can help!**

While she studied the contents, Marty started the car and backed up, looking over his shoulder. When he faced forward, the front of the pamphlet was inches from his nose, obscuring his view. “Is this for real?" 

"Hey, I gotta see to drive," he swatted the pamphlet out of his face and put the car in drive. "And no, it's just a pipe dream."

"But it's being run by the . . ." Liz reread the literature to make certain of the name. "Princess of Hell Charlotte' Charlie" Magne."

Marty grunted and rolled his eyes. "The princess is a cinnamon roll who probably still sleeps with stuffed toys. She got it into her head that she can change demons through hugs and kisses."

"Maybe not with hugs and kisses," Liz said thoughtfully. "People can change their ways through therapy, education, support groups, rehab, and counseling."

"Maybe humans, but not demons," Marty stated, turning onto the road. "Honey, everyone in Hell is here for a reason, and no one wants to change."

Liz gave him a curious look. "I thought if there was a way to go to Heaven, everyone would be beating down their door."

"It’s not real," Marty said, reaching into his pocket for his cigarette pack. "And no one wants to be redeemed and go to Heaven. Why bother when everything they want is down here? Look out the window and count the drug and liquor stores. Bonus points if you spot a hooker or a strip joint."

As he pointed out, on every street was a neon sign promising the hardest drugs and liquor. There was even a brightly lit vending machine advertising dime bags of cocaine to weed. And on every corner was a demon wearing flashy clothes to draw the attention of potential johns. One noticed Liz staring from the window and made a crude gesture that made her cheeks burn.

"Lizzie, I . . .can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," she said, grateful for a reason to keep her attention away from the street. 

"How is your mother?" Marty had a cigarette tucked between his lips, eyes firmly on the road ahead. There was tension in his shoulders and an aura of melancholy and regret. 

She chewed her lower lip and asked, "You . . .you don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Mom died five years ago," Liz looked down at her feet and the trash covering the floorboard. "Cancer."

"Fuck," Marty whispered, his ears almost laying back within his hat. "She fought it like hell, didn't she."

"She did. For ten years, she fought," Liz nodded. "In the end, she stopped the treatments, so she could diee on her terms. She wasn't alone . . .I was with her until the end."

"I should have been there," Marty said, drawing a long drag on his cigarette.

Liz felt his sadness like a thick fog on her skin. Was he actually mourning a woman he had left abandoned decades ago? She had a question of her own, and it had weighed on her for a while. "Why? Why did you leave?"

Marty didn't answer; instead, he took another deep drag on his cigarette and expelled the smoke through the cracked window. Liz decided she didn't want to know the answer enough to insist on one. 

The car rounded a bend in the road, which then melds onto a highway leading towards the outer edge of Pentagram City. Flanking the highway were huge neon billboard signs: a man in a tux with a flatscreen head grinning maliciously with bright red eyes that seemed to follow them as they passed and a rag doll like girl showing off a phone with a deranged gleam in her eyes. There was another billboard of scantily clad demon women dancing with a bright red heart symbol above them. 

"We had problems." 

Liz looked back at Marty, who was staring at the road ahead, but his eyes were distant and melancholy. "We were high school sweethearts, and we thought we were in love."

Marty took another long drag while Liz waited patiently for him to continue. After some consideration, he said, "Actually, I did love your mother, and I think she loved me too, but we were . . .Jesus, we were just kids, way too young to hook up the way we did. We were so desperate to get away from our parents."

After tapping out the ashes into a tray between the seats, Marty continued. "My father was the town's drunk, living off the government handouts which he drank away. My mother left him for a truck driver who came through town when I was six years old. And Alice's mother was . . . well . . . your grandmother was bitch."

"Yeah, I know," Liz sighed, as old memories returned to her "Mom and I lived with her until she died when I was ten."

"What happened? Did God finally get tired of the old bitch's bullshit and strike her down?" 

"More like she slipped on a wet patch of ice and hit her head," Liz said, recalling how no tears were shed from her or Mom that day; instead, it was like taking the first breath of freedom. "You don't think that . . .Grandma is in Hell?"

"Wouldn't surprise me," Marty snorted. "But I ain't gonna look for her. It was bad enough having her as an in-law. I sure as fuck don't want her as a neighbor. So you would know how desperate your mom was to get away from the bitch." 

Liz nodded, remembering the old crone who was bright and cheerful when she was in public and at church to keep up the appearance of a charming old lady but was mean and bitter towards her daughter and granddaughter in their home. Liz's legs stung as she recalled the switch Grandma Barbara favored as punishment for any perceived signs of disrespect. 

Marty continued which gave Liz a reprieve from her unwanted childhood memories. "We thought all we needed was love, but it turns out you need way more than that to make a marriage work, especially with a kid involved. Money, food, bills, work, and the willingness to deal with shit when you're fucking tired and feet and back sore from busting your ass all day."

Liz watched Marty grind out the cigarette in the ashtray, his eyes cloudy and distant. She wanted to say something but didn't know what to say. Whatever happened had hurt her mother deeply enough to the point that she refused to speak of him.

"Uh, it's none of my business," Marty said. There was an uncomfortable movement in his shoulders. "Is there a . . .? I mean, did you ever meet someone?"

"Oh, uh, no, I'm not married," Liz said, looking away. "I . . .I almost got married one time."

"What-what happened?" The question was tentative as if he was treading dangerous deep water.

"He changed his mind. Said I was already married to my job," Liz sighed, propping her elbow against the door brace her chin on her curled hand. 

"Fuck 'em, it's his loss," Marty groused. 

A small smile spread across Liz's lips. Even though this demon looked like a wolf-lizard hybrid, her long-lost father was trapped in Hell, but hearing him taking her side felt good. "Thanks, Dad."

*** 

The city was much larger than she could have thought possible. It was a massive metropolis that could put Tokyo to shame. There were innumerable districts and wards, all serving as territories for various gangs and organizations which were more criminal than legal. And while large cities such as New York and Shanghai certainly had bars and sex clubs, as Marty had pointed out earlier, Pentagram City had them in the dozens per district. There was even a drug store with bright sign shamelessly promising heroin and cocaine by the kilo. 

“Is anything illegal here?” 

“Nope,” Marty replied. “If your body can handle it then you are free to try anything.”

“So there’s no law enforcement?” Liz asked, noticing the lack of police cars or any sign of city service. 

“Not city funded like cops,” Marty explained. “Most districts are kept in line by the gangs and organisations that want things peaceful. There are private security businesses, but only the wealthy can afford their services.” 

Once they finally left Pentagram City behind, the area became more rural with a few forgotten buildings sprinkled along the main road. Unless Liz was driving, long car rides made her drowsy, lulled to sleep by the car's motion and the steady hum of the engine, but during this drive, her mind was racing. What was going to happen when they found Hartly? 

Her father had explained, but would it be that simple? Just to scare him off? Dad had gone into the bedroom for several minutes to collect a gun, but while the weapon was snugged in a holster at his hip, she noticed the handle poking out from his pocket. It was too big to be a switchblade and too oddly shaped to be an ordinary knife. 

And though she had insisted on accompanying him, by now, she was regretting the hastiness of her decision. What did she offer in a fight? Liz had been to several self-defense classes, and while that had helped her out of a dangerous situation more than once, she was no martial artist and powerless if the opponent had a gun. 

The car turned onto a long dirt road, dust kicking up in a thick cloud behind them. It was like a desert now with the landscape peppered with rocks and twisted looking cacti. Now and again, there were bones of abandoned cars along the side of the road. 

"Where are we?"

"Believe it or not, this used to be a forest."

"No shit?" It seemed desolate now, empty and barren with no trace of life.

"Yeah, the mill where we're going to deforested this whole region."

Liz couldn't tell if he was speaking from regret or pride. 

***

Several miles away was a second dust cloud. This trailed behind a bright red convertible with golden hub caps. The driver had an arm hooked along the edge of the window, a hand on the steering wheel, a third hand holding a cigarette, and a fourth hand holding a phone.

"I'm almost there, Pops," Angel Dust muttered. "Yeah, yeah, I'll find 'im, don't worry. . . yeah, I'll call if I need help . . . I'm sure your favorite son is still alive . . .yeah, yeah, fuck you too."

He disconnected the call and tossed the phone into the passenger seat in disgust. It was only out of desperation that Henroin would call him for help, and the only reason why Angel Dust agreed to help at all was that it involved his brother. Arackniss hadn't been seen for nearly three days, which wasn't unusual, but he always kept in touch with Henroin. Three days, no word, and no responses to Henroin's texts demanding answers prompted the old spider to contact his other son.

Since he cut off ties with Angel Dust, he had to send a courier first to the Porn Studios and then to the Happy Hotel asking if he had seen the smaller spider. For the first time in decades, Angel Dust spoke with his father to discover what was happening.

Arackniss went to oversee a business deal but never came back. No one returned from the meeting for either side had heard any word of what had happened to those involved. After a few days of searching, it was concluded that the only place that could hold any answers (or a missing Arackniss) was the Lirkin Mill. 

  
  
  



	7. Arc 2: Murder Mill - Into the Dark

The dirt road faded from into open land with no clear path to mark it. The car rocked to and fro as it passed over uneven terrain and swerved around ancient dried stumps that stood like grave markers with long shadows. 

A landmark stood out in the distance and gradually grew larger and larger as they drew closer. Liz leaned forward until she was sitting at the edge of the seat, straining against the seatbelt. "Is that a mill?"

"Yeah," Marty said, leaning over the steering wheel to see they did not get stuck in any deep ditches or holes large trees had occupied in the terrain. 

"But . . .it's so big. I mean, I know lumber mills are large, but it's. . .it's the size of a super mall or an industrial factory."

There were multiple stories, but the floors overlapped each other like an uneven layered cake. Stacks rose like broken fingers from the roofs with windows angled up and down in a pattern of sharp teeth. She couldn't see much more detail from this far away, but what she could make out unsettled her as if she were looking at the site of atrocities.

A swirl of dust accompanied the car as it came to a stop. Marty checked his gun before opening the door. "Stay here."

"I'm coming with you," Liz was opening her car door, but Marty grabbed her arm. The tips of his claws pricked the sleeve, almost scratching her through the fabric. 

"No, you're staying here," Marty said firmly. "This place may not be as abandoned as it looks."

"That's why I need to go with you." She said, returning the hard look he was giving her.

He cut her off with a short growl. "Lizzie, I can go invisible, and as a demon I'm hard to kill. Having you with me will be a distraction because I'll be more worried about protecting you than myself. Just stay here until I get back."

Without giving her a chance to argue, he shut the door and stalked off towards the mill. Liz watched him go, fuming, but saw sense in his words and remained in the car. 

"Shit," she muttered to herself. "He could have left his car keys behind if it gets hot."

***

"Shit," Angel Dust groaned. "Fucking rocks scratching up my boots."

He had parked as close as possible to the mill, but broken pieces of board and debris kept him from getting closer. "Little brother, ya better be in there needin' help and not in the middle of an orgy . . .that'd sure make this trip worth it."

Laughing to himself, whether it was at his joke or imagining Arackniss in an orgy, he didn't know. While he considered it, he nearly twisted his ankle. Catching himself on a pile of wood, he looked down to see the deep rut that had almost tripped him. 

"What the fuck is this?" 

It was almost a finger deep and half a foot wide. It trailed towards a solid wall of the mill and ended at the edge. Upon closer inspection of the wall, he found the seams of a small door. Something's been coming and going from the mill for a long time to leave such a deep rut. So how did the door open? It had to be mechanized as there were no locks or hinges to be found. And forcing it open may cause him to break a nail. Nope, he had to find another way inside.

"Arackniss, little bro, you wouldn't wanna make this easier and c'mon out so we can blow this joint?" Angel Dust called, stepping back several yards for a better look at the wall. "No? Alright then, ya little punk, I'll come in after ya."

There was a broken window on the third story. It was pretty high up, but he had done higher jumps before. It took a short running start, but he easily leaped and made it, catching himself against the tiles, which broke loose under his weight and fell off the edge and hit the ground in loud clunks.

"Shit," Angel Dust grimaced at the loud noise. 

He crawled in through the window, mindful of the broken glass. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness but still couldn't see far ahead of him. There were no sounds of machines or people within, so maybe this place had been abandoned after all?

It was still a pretty big place after all; he'd have to check it out to be sure Arackniss or anyone wasn't inside. Drawing a handgun, he moved into the darkness, leaving the light from the window behind. 

***

Marty froze when he heard a distant noise with no clear direction. It might be broken and rotting boards that decided to fall after years of disrepair. Or it could be a sign this place wasn't as empty as it appeared. 

Looking back at the car and not seeing a stubborn woman coming after him, he activated his cloaking. Inside the mill was the silence of the dead. It was a large place, so he might not be within hearing range of anything. Stepping back, he scanned for CCTV cameras and seeing none was another sign of it being abandoned. 

The large double doors were chained shut with a standard chain. He wasn't much for lock picking, but he had other means at his disposal. The chain broke in his hand with the twist of the wrist, but the door was resistant to moving and slid apart in a high-pitched screech when he put his shoulder into it. 

His eyes watered as dust filled his nose, almost making him sneeze. The only light within was the light from outside the mill, casting his shadow across the concrete floor. That was the single flaw with his camouflage; it bent the light around him to blend in but didn't prevent him from casting a shadow. It was a good thing that people fail to look for a shadow most of the time. 

The crackle of his shoes on the floor echoed through the dark cavern of the mill. Silence hummed in his ears, and his hand tightened on the gun while the other gripped the angel blade. Some demons could see well in the dark and could move more stealthily than he could ever hope to. Having Shard watching his back would be useful right now. It had been a to call and ask his partner to provide backup, but he would have to tell him about Lizzie. It wasn't that he feared Shard would harm her, but the fewer people who knew a human was in Hell, the safer she would be.

With one last look back at the car, he went into the mill.

***

Liz told herself that she wasn't going to look away from the mill until Marty returned, but after the first ten minutes, she was getting bored. After staring at the mill for a while, it lost its eerie allure and seemed like a property hazard. Chances were there was nothing inside, and Marty had worried for nothing. 

"Holy shit," Liz gasped when the phone shrieked from her pocket.

It was the scream someone made if they stepped on a dead rat with their bare feet. The phone continued to pulse and moan in her hands until she hit the home button. What kind of phone had a scream as its basic ringtone?

It had a news alert from 666 News. Tapping it with her thumb revealed it was a video with the thumbnail of the most human-looking demon she had seen since arriving in Hell. The girl was wearing a red tuxedo with long blonde hair hanging down her back. She was wearing white makeup with perfectly round red circles on the apples of her cheeks. The only inhuman feature Liz could see was her dark eyes were set against yellow sclera and her teeth seemed sharper than humanly normal. Beside her was a heading: The Princess of Hell's Passion Project.

"Waitaminute," Liz whispered to herself as she retrieved the Happy Hotel pamphlet from her other pocket and checked the name of the owner: Princess of Hell Charlotte 'Charlie' Mange. 

So this was the Princess of Hell? She didn't look anything like how Liz imagined someone with such a title. There were no horns, wings, or devil tail, and she was dressed in modest professionalism with no sign of any leather nor bondage attire. If Liz didn't know any better, she would have said she looked like a college student about to go to a Halloween Party. 

As tempting as it was to watch the video now, it was more important to keep a lookout for Marty. She spared a few seconds to download the video to view later. Dropping the phone into her pocket, Liz settled for another ten minutes of being a lookout. Her mind switched between worrying about her father and thinking about everything she learned since arriving in Hell. 

There didn't seem to be any punishment. When evil people die, they transform into creatures and continue their sinful ways through hedonistic lifestyles complete with vending machines that sell hard drugs, numerous strip clubs, and murder and mayhem on top of everything. Wasn't the purpose of Hell to torment people for all eternity? Instead, they have news programs, restaurants, and banking accounts. 

What was Heaven like then? Was it like Hell, but nicer and wholesome? 

She noticed movement in the side mirror, coming from behind her. Liz wrenched around in her seat, staring through the car's rear window to watch the puff of dust getting closer and closer. Was that someone else coming to the mill? Should she try hiding the vehicle? Shit, Marty took the keys with him. 

Whatever she could have done, it was too late now; they were close enough to see her by now. Should she duck down and hide? Pulling out her phone again, she sent a text to Marty.

**Liz:** Someone is coming. 

She glanced at the mirror to see if they were slowing down, but they maintained a steady speed. Then she furrowed her brows, focusing on the vehicle . . .actually, it wasn't a vehicle at all.

It was rolling on one wheel like a unicycle with a barrel metal body and square tin head with headlight eyes catching the sunlight. Instead of arms hanging down its sides was a buzz saw and a chainsaw blade. And it was dragging something behind it which was kicking up the dust. 

A robot? Dad never mentioned anything about robots. It reminded her of the automatons in steampunk-themed graphic novels she enjoyed in high school. As it drew closer, she could see a little pipe spouting exhaust out the back. It kept going at the same speed, neither slowing down to study her nor speeding up to attack.

She considered getting out of the car to meet it . . . until she saw what it was dragging. They were all hooked onto a large hook like fish with hands flopped over the rocks while feet left shallow grooves in the dirt. As it passed the car, dragging the severed limbs, she could see what she had believed to be dirt or oil was dried bloodstains. 

_ What the fuck is this? A steampunk version of The Hills Have Eyes?  _

It was heading for the Lirkin Mill. A tremor of fear crawled through her body when she realized that this thing was bringing severed limbs to something inside that mill where her father currently was. She checked the phone and saw that the message couldn't be delivered as the receiver may be out of range or somewhere there was no signal. Shit, she couldn't warn Marty at all.

Throwing all caution and Marty's warnings aside, Liz got out of the car and followed the robot. It was challenging to keep up as the robot was going at a quick pace, and her father's oversize boots made it difficult to jog. Instead of going through the open doors, the robot was going around the side of the mill. It's tire slotted into a long rut and kept going as if on a rail. 

"Shit, shit, shit," she hissed as she struggled to keep up, feeling like a waddling duck. If she weren't afraid of harming her feet, she would have ditched them and gone barefoot. If they survived this and made it back to Pentagram City, she would be making Marty get her a decent pair of shoes. 

_ I got to be out of my damn mind chasing after a murder robot dragging body parts. It hasn't tried to attack me; in fact, I don't think it notices me. Or maybe it has its quota and doesn't need to collect anymore 'parts'?  _

The robot was going about its business, rolling along the rut and weaving between discarded tools and broken lumber. Liz had to twist at the waist lest she scratched herself on a rusty piece of equipment that looked more in place in a cheap sci-fi flick and nearly tripped over more rocks. 

Checking her phone, she tried to send the message again. Maybe she was close enough for the signal to go through. It likely didn't work that way, but it was worth a try. As she watched the message being sent and then returned as undelivered, she noticed the robot had stopped.

It was trembling at a blank wall, humming and puffing more exhaust. Liz drew closer, but careful to a keep safe distance from it. What was it waiting for?

She gasped when a piece of the seemingly solid wall slowly lifted with a shudder revealing an opening. The robot had saws for arms, and it was returning to a lumber mill . . . this thing had to have worked for the mill when it was in operation. Instead of body parts, it was supposed to haul fallen trees or logs for processing. Someone had to reprogram it and that someone was inside the lumber mill . . .with Dad. 

When the door fully rose just high enough for the robot to go through, it rolled inside with the chain rattling behind it. And as the door began to lower, Liz ducked her head beneath it and followed the robot inside. 

  
  



	8. Arc 2: Murder Mill - Arackniss

With the door shuddered shut behind her, she could only perceive the mill through sound and smell. The sweet scent of old wood and the odor of blood filled her nose and the robot clunk and rolled towards its destination. 

Thankfully the hellphone had a flashlight like the ones on Earth. It cast a light across the robots back, and she started when her foot almost stepped on an open hand. "Shit."

With the ground being smooth concrete, she was able to keep up with the robot and shine her light for a look around. There was old equipment chained up to prevent looting and crates covered in a thick layer of dusk streaked across her elbow when she brushed against one. 

"Shit," she said again, swatting the sleeve clean.

Chains hanging from the ceiling tapped her face. Brushing them aside with one arm as she held the phone light. The robot had gained some distance ahead of her, and she hurried to keep up. It was a mistake to run in the dark and oversize shoes as she soon fell flat on her face. 

"Shit . . ." she moaned when she regained her breath. The fall knocked the wind out of her, and she was breathing in dust buffeted up by the impact. Coughing and wheezing, she found where her phone had skidded, leaving marks on the grimy floor. Crawling over, she picked it up, dusted it off, and stood.

And was face to face with the most grotesque thing she had ever seen in her life. It wasn't so much that it was a demon's head complete with horns, dead eyes, and an open mouth showing off rows of sharp teeth, but it was also suspended off the ground by a hook through the skull. 

"Shit!" Chains hit her back as she backpedaled, and something more solid than a hanging chain connected with her back.

_ Fuck me. I know how this ends. I turn around, and there's something with a meat cleaver ready to take my head off. _

After several minutes of no gruesome death, Liz risked a look over her shoulder. It was a limbless torso with fur matted in blood and other unidentifiable fluids suspended by two hooks through the shoulders. There was no head.

Liz screamed, choking on the bile rising in her throat as she fell on her ass. Kicking backward, she scooted across the floor, clutching the hellphone tightly between her hands, the light swinging across the hideous sight. Her back hit a solid wall, and she gasped for breath, breathing in dust and coughing raggedly. 

"Who's the fuck out there?"

She coughed so loud it was hard to make out the voice. Once she was able to catch her breath, she panted, "Who are you?"

"I asked ya first."

Liz swept the light across the room and could only see a limited span of chains (thank God, no more body parts) and ground. Where was the voice coming from?

"I'm Elizabeth Carter," she said, pushing against the wall to stand. "I'm looking for my dad."

"Well, good for you. Get me the fuck outta here!"

The voice was male and had a strong Brooklyn accent. She took a few steps forward and scanned the room with the light. "I can't see you."

"I ain't fuckin' out there. I'm in here!"

The voice was coming from behind her. The wall she had collided with in her frenzy had been a door. It was metal with a wheel handle like a submarine door. Tucking the phone beneath her chin with the light angled on the door, she grasped the wheel and turned it. It didn't want to give, and resolutely stayed in place despite her efforts, but after putting all her weight on one side, it finally acquiesces with a terrible screech. 

It complained as she pushed it open, straining to the point that she nearly fell again when it suddenly swung open and banged against the wall. The malodor slapped her face, and she struggled not to gag, giving her weight to the door jamb as she recovered.

"What took ya so long?"

She dry heaved, took several breaths through her mouth, and turned a venomous gaze at the speaker. At first glance, she thought it was a child, but eight crimson eyes blinked against the light's glare. 

The best word to describe this demon would be a black furred spider. Eight eyes with three small sets around a larger pair, four arms stretched across the gurney by cords. Two spindly black legs were held against the surface with rope. 

Liz lowered the light from his face, and her blood went cold as it fell across the tools hanging from the wall. Hanging in a row like knives in a kitchen were saws, machetes, scalpels, hammers, picks, and cleavers. All were stained in a myriad of bloodstains, fresh and old, with tissue and crust along with the blades. 

Swallowing back a scream or a whimper, Liz crossed the room, no dungeon, one could only call this place a dungeon. She lifted a serrated knife from its hook as it seemed the cleanest. The spider demon gave her a wary look, which she didn't hold against him; he was tied down, and she was the one with the weapon. 

To assuage his fears, she quickly saw away at the cord, restraining one of his arms. "Are you alone down here?"

"I am now," the spider demon muttered. His tone was so neutral that she couldn't read any grief or regret in it. Likely, he was just stating a fact with no emotion for whatever befell the others. 

"I thought demons couldn't be killed," Liz muttered, thinking about Marty. Was he strapped to a table somewhere down here too, waiting for rescue or torture?

"It takes a while," the spider demon replied. "But cuttin' off bits after a demon grows' em' back can drain their regeneration to the point they can't no more. It's a lousy way to go." 

Was that a hint of fear or dread she detected in that neutral tone? The knife bit through the last threads holding the cord in place. With a relieved moan, the spider demon stretched and moved his free limb, twisting the wrist and wagging his fingers to regain movement in what had gone numb many hours ago. Liz began working to free the second right arm, thinking quietly that if he had fewer arms, then her job to free him would be halfway over. 

"Why do this?" Hearing him talk gave her something to focus on as she worked to free him. The weapons and tools behind her made her shiver as if the cold metal was tickling her skin. 

"Musta not been in Hell long to not have heard of rogue cannibals," the spider demon replied. 

"Why go rogue out here when you can eat people in a restaurant in the city?" She almost got it, just a few more saws. 

"Ya never look at the price on the menu?" There was a hint of amusement in the spider demon's face. "Cannibal food is expensive as fuck. It has to be because no one is gonna sell an arm or a leg for nickels and dimes."

There. The cord cut loose, and she only had two more to go. Before she could move around the table, he plucked the knife from her hand. "Lemme do it. I'll be faster than yous."

"Okay, fine," Liz said, relinquishing the knife. 

She turned back to the rack of weapons and spied a long-handled ax leaning against the wall, and it looked almost brand new. Picking it up, she weighed it in her hands and believed she could swing this pretty well if the need arose. She didn't want it but was too afraid not to take it with her. 

The spider demon had freed his other arms and was working on releasing his legs. He glanced up at the ax in her hands, but his neutral eyes wouldn't tell her if he approved of her holding it or not. "You wouldn't happen to have a drink or a smoke, wouldcha?"

"Sorry, I don't," Liz said, regrettably. She could use a drink herself. 

"Damn." Within a few minutes, his legs were free, and he was hobbling onto the table, balancing on thin legs. "Do me another solid and point me the way outta here."

"I don't know which way I came. I'm lost in here too, and the door shut behind me."

"Well, fuck. . ." the spider demon muttered. He walked on his pencil-thin legs towards a second door and turned the knob. It swung open into a closet that wafted dust and foulness into his face. Liz winced as the odor swept over her too. "Thank god . . ."

Liz followed him inside and saw the piles of clothing and shoes on the floor, and the personal possession of passed victims were hanging from the walls. The spider demon was already helping himself to a flask he found in the floor, draining its contents into his throat and tossing it aside when it was empty. "The fucker took all the cigarettes."

"Do you know who the fucker is?" Liz asked.

"Dunno. Never saw 'im. Only heard 'is voice," the spider demon said, looking and poking through the items within. "Nasal, like."

"Did he have a Boston accent?" 

The spider demon paused for a thoughtful moment. "Yeah, I think so. Ya know 'im?"

"Maybe," Liz replied. "Look, I have to find my Dad . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, go look for 'em. I'm gonna find the way outta here." The spider demon came out, strapping a gun belt around his narrow waist. He was checking the ammo of a revolver before giving the barrel an experimental spin and slotting it into the holster. 

"You're not gonna help me find him, are you?" Liz said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Well, ya see, he's not my father," the spider demon said matter of factly. "Look, I appreciate the help, and I'll buy you a drink if you survive."

"So you're just going to leave me here alone?"

"Hey, you're welcome to come with as long as ya don't get in my way outta here," the spider demon shrugged. "We see your father on the way, he can come too, so long as he doesn't slow me down."

Liz considered the offer and nodded. It was better than being abandoned, and finding and securing a way out would be useful. "Sounds fair. What's your name?"

"Arackniss."

***

Stupid, stupid, stupid bullshit stupid. 

The words kept repeating through his head as he scanned the darkness. He was so careful to keep track of the way back, but somehow he got mixed up and couldn't tell his right from his left in the insufferable darkness. 

How long ago had it been since he last saw a window or a glimpse of sunlight through a window or crack in a broken wall? His dark vision wasn't great, but at least the darkness allowed him to drop his veil. Maintaining it was like keeping a muscle tense. 

He paused to take a quick sip from his flask and found it half empty. He thought he had filled it earlier . . .he probably did and just didn't think to keep track of the amount he drank until now. It's been a long time that he had to limit himself on booze. In Pentagram City, a liquor store or bar was never more than a block away. 

All the more reason to find the way out quickly. 

Light flashed before him, and he squinted against it. Turning on his camouflage, he ducked down, expecting an assault, but none came. His eyes adjusted to the light and saw a bright neon sign against a wall he hadn't seen ahead of him.

**This Way ==== >**

The arrow pointing towards the right flashed at him like an advertisement pointing out the direction of a business.

"Aw shit," Marty moaned. 

He was a stupid dumbass, after all. Being in Hell for 30 years sure as fuck didn't make him any smarter. And he had been a horror movie fan when he was alive, so there was no excuse not to have seen this coming. An abandoned mill in the middle of nowhere . . .god, he was such a dumbass.

No doubt, there was no other way to go other than the direction of the arrow. 

"I'll play along," Marty muttered, grateful that Liz was safely back in the car.

***

Liz ducked beneath the hanging chains while Arackniss could walk easily beneath them. She carried the light and axe while he held the gun and led the way. The axe was too heavy to swing with one hand, but she kept it from dragging on the ground behind her by tucking it beneath her arm. They weren't sneaking, but they were still trying not to make too much noise.

Her breath caught in her throat when the light passed over a twisted face hanging by a hook above a torso. The horns curled like a ram's tipped in embossed gold. What flesh remained on the trunk was covered in tattoos. 

"Damn, Bard." Arackniss cursed, sounding tired and bitter. 

"Was he a good friend?" Liz asked, respectfully keeping the light on the remains though she rather not look at them.

"Nah, not a friend . . .can't say he was good either," Arackniss said thoughtfully. "But he sure as hell didn't deserve this."

"This isn't the first time I saw a body strung up like this."

"Trophies," Aracknis surmised. "Let's go. We ain’t doin’ Bard any favors by gawkin’ at ‘im."

They continued, leaving the remains of Bard behind. Liz checked the battery on her phone and saw it was still above 50 percent. How long have they walked through the darkness like this? They haven't even hit a wall. Were they going around blindly in circles?

"Arackniss, where do demons go when they die?" 

"Nowhere," the spider demon replied. "There's nothing after this life."

She swallowed, thinking of Marty. "How can you be so sure?"

"C'mon, you think there's a double hell? Or a Heaven for good demons? There's life on Earth, and death in Heaven or Hell. Nothing after that." Arackniss paused, looking at her, all eight eyes looking her up and down. Not in a sexual way, but studious like a scientist assessing a subject. "You ain't a demon, are ya?"

"No, I'm not." Liz didn't see a reason to hide it now. 

"I knew somethin' was off about ya. You're too . . ." It took him a moment to find the words. "Too clean."

Clean? She was expecting him to say innocent or naive. "You don't mean normal?"

"Toots, I ain't seen normal in my life . . .before or after I died. I've been down here so long I've almost forgotten what humans look like."

He didn't ask how she came to be in Hell nor what she was doing there. Maybe it was out of respect for her privacy, or he just didn't care enough to know. There was no further conversation for the next half hour. They came across a set of wooden stairs that creaked under Liz's weight while Arackniss went up the steps with barely a sound. She supposed he must have hollow bones like a bird.

"It's gonna get dangerous from here on," Arackniss muttered as they reached the top of the stairs. Dim light bulbs were hanging from the ceiling, but she'd take that over body parts, and they allowed her to turn off the phone's light, saving the battery. 

"How so?" She couldn't see how it was more dangerous up here than it was downstairs with the chains, body parts, and murder weapons. 

"The reason we were left alone was cuz they didn't know we was wonderin' around down there," Arackniss explained. "But up here, someone might notice us."

"Shit," Liz said as any relief she felt leaving the dungeon below was wiped away. And there was still no sign of Marty. 

Arackniss led the way down a long hall with doors covered over in brick and mortar. Liz experimentally touched one, and it felt quite solid. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble bricking up these doors. Was it to prevent escape or to hide something? Or was this done before the cannibal took over?

Arackniss stopped so suddenly that she almost walked into him. "You hear that?"

"Hear what?" 

Seconds after the words left her mouth, she could hear it too. It was a buzzing sound, like a giant insect trapped in a paper bag. And it was graduating into an electrical sawing coming from behind them. Liz looked over her shoulder to see a barrel-chested robot wheeling along the hall, both saws raised and churning above its head. 

"Fuck!" Arackniss raised the gun, took aim, and it went off in a deafening explosion. 

The bullet glanced off the metal chest and did nothing to slow the automaton down. They both took off down the hall. Arackniss gained yards ahead of her within seconds. He could move with impossible speed despite his shorter stature. 

_ And he isn't wearing uncomfortable shoes either _ , she thought bitterly as she struggled to stay ahead of the saws.    
Something caught across her ankles, pitching her forward. She managed to catch herself with an arm in fear of falling on the ax. The roaring saws were right behind her, almost on top of her. Flipping onto her back, she raised the ax's handle in time to block the spinning buzzsaw. It began ripping into the wooden handle, throwing chips and powder into her face. 

Screaming, she raised both feet and kicked the metal barrel it had for a torso. The robot rocked backward, giving the ax handle a moment of respite before coming back with a vengeance, both saws tearing into the wood. The handle remained whole, but it was still only a waxed stick serving as a barrier between her flesh, and the hungry teeth that will tear her apart. 

She had to get out from under those teeth, but it took all her upper strength to keep them from her. It was leaning, bearing down on her, and only her legs braced on its torso as if she was about to get a gynecological exam, kept it propped up.

Then Arackniss appeared and shot the robot in the right eye at point-blank range. The robot's head exploded with an acidic odor and hot oil dropping from the cavernous hole where its eye had been. The saws ceased functioning, puttering to a stop, and Liz kicked it away from her. It fell backward, saw arms splayed to the sides like a lifeless action figure.

"Can you get up?" Though Arackniss was next to her, he sounded far away.

Her arms were numb as if they were boneless, and her chest rose and fell as she gulped for air. "I . . .I think so."

"Then do it! C'mon! I hear more of those fuckers comin'."


	9. Arc 2: Murder Mill - The Spider Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commissioned art by @Ravenousscorpian

**This Way ==== >**

Being led around by neon signs was beginning to piss him off. No, truthfully, he's been pissed for the last hour and fuming to the point that he punched the arrow part of the sign. 

"Bet ya ain't gonna like replacing this shit, huh, ya fuckin' bitch!" 

How long ago was that he last saw Lizzie? Was she still in the car? He tried to text her, but there was no signal. He hoped she didn't try to follow him inside this place. Coming here without Shard was a mistake that he wouldn't be making again. 

He came to an archway leading into an upward ramp. Above in luminous neon lights was a new sign.

**Right Through Here**

Marty hoped this meant he was coming to the end of whatever this joke or trap would be. Regardless if it killed him or not.

_ No, I can't die. Not until the bastard putting up the money to have Lizzie dead is gone.  _

The ramp was steeper than he had expected. His tail provided balance, much like a cat’s, and he was able to go up without having to crawl. Once he reached the top, he saw he wasn't alone. The room was circular with a single bulb offering a meager circle of light, and the figure standing beneath it with a lower set of hands braced on hips while the top set was crossed beneath a furry chest looked around in disdain.

"This is fuckin' insane," the figure muttered. "Arackniss, I swear if yous ain't somewhere around here . . ."

"Holy shit," Marty said before he could think to stop himself.

The pink spider demon whipped around, all four hands bearing guns on him. "Who the fuck is there?"

Shit, he forgot that he had his camouflage up. "Angel, it's. . .me. I . . .” 

"Who the fuck is 'me'?" The four guns scanned the room in the direction of Marty's voice. 

How the hell would he introduce himself? 'Hey, Angel, I used to be one of your johns' Or 'remember those times I paid you to sleep with me?' "It's. . .it's me, Marty. You and I used to . . .I paid you for sex a few times."

"Ya gonna have to be more specific than that, sweetheart," Angel Dust said, rolling his eyes. "I've fucked about a dozen Martys." 

"Shit, alright, just try not to shoot me."

He dropped the camouflage. There was a jerk in Angel Dust's arms in reaction to seeing another demon just appear out of nowhere before recognition caused a leery smile to spread across his face. "Oh, hiya, Weeps. Sorry, but I'm not on the clock at the moment."

"I'm not here for that, Angel," Marty said, feeling a flush spreading on his face. He was thankful that his scales were dark, or it would be more visible. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, baby." Angel Dust cocked his hips and holstered two of the guns.

"Fair enough," Marty said with a shrug. It wasn't in his nature to trust someone so quickly, but he was familiar enough with Angel Dust to know it wasn't his style to be involved in whatever was happening in this mill. Also, it seemed that he was just as lost as Marty. "I'm looking for Brian Hartly. I received a tip that he was here."

"Dunno any Brian Hartly," Angel Dust replied, shrugging all four shoulders. 

"You're the first person I've run into since I got here." He wasn't sure what to make of Angel Dust coming all the way out here. The spider always struck him as someone who didn’t care for anything happening outside of the city. "Were you led here by neon signs?"

"Yep, some wiseguy thinks he's clever," Angel Dust crossed all four arms and eyed Marty. "What's Brian Hartly to you? Ex-boyfriend?"

"Hardly," Marty snorted. "I have a few questions for him is all."

"You came a long way out here just to ask questions, Weeps," Angel Dust remarked. "He owes your boss money?"

"It's personal," Marty replied, his ears tilted backward. "You don't strike me as someone that'd come out here for sightseeing."

"Oh, and how do I strike ya, sweetheart?"

Angel Dust gave Marty a once over, which was both sexual and analytical, and Marty bit the inside of his cheek as he recalled the first time he had bought the prostitute's time. It was the same look he gave Marty years ago when Marty approached him at the bar and asked how much for an hour of his time. He had been sauced and lonely, and at that time things were cold between him and Shard. Angel Dust came into the bar, looking like something that stepped out of a wet dream, and Marty became hardfirst sight. 

After the penetrating look, Angel Dust gave him an eyebrow raising price, which would put an early end to Marty's night. Fuck it, Marty had thought after some consideration with his boner rubbing against the zipper of his pants, and put down the money. Angel Dust counted and pocketed the bills with a flirtatious smile and declared the hour started, which concluded in the back of Marty's car parked in an alley a block away. 

Okay, focus. He was here to help Lizzie, not get his rocks off by an eye candied spider. 

"Do you know the way out of here?" Marty said in what he hoped was a get down to business tone. 

"Nope. Looks like I'm as lost as you are," Angel Dust said, almost strutting with his arms behind his back. 

"Then . . .we should work together," Marty averted his eyes, finding himself very uncomfortable. Focus . . .focus . . .Lizzie was outside waiting for him, and they weren't exactly safe here. "I know you aren't here by accident."

Suddenly, the pink spider was standing very close to Marty, invading personal space close. A pink gloved hand walked up his chest and Angel Dust's face was inches from his snout. "You wanna be partners? Business or . . .something else?"

Marty swallowed, feeling his face growing hot and his nose filling with Angel Dust's perfume. It reminded him of those candied scented perfumes high school girls wore, almost suffocating and much too sweet. However, the spider demon's scent had a visceral smell that made his throat go tight. "I . . .uh . . .look, let’s . . .just take this . . .”

He never had the chance to finish the sentence. The floor dropped, and the two of them fell into the open darkness below. 

***

It was hard to run while looking down. Her only guidance was watching where Arackniss hopped. There were tripwires stretched across the floor, one of which had tripped Liz earlier. She didn't dare look behind her to see how many were behind them, but she could hear them closing in on her. 

Arackniss took a sudden sharp turn, and she nearly tripped over herself to make the turn. She ran past a set of barrels and saw him trying to push them over. With her greater height, she grabbed a barrel from the top and threw it onto its side. She had enough time to throw over another barrel before the first robot rounded the corner on its wheel. 

They both dashed away as it began ripping into the barrel with both saws. It bought them time, but not much. And there was a door ahead. If it was locked . . .

Arackniss didn't take that chance. He shot through the lock and threw the door open. On the other side of the door was an office with a desk and a set of shelves. Without communicating, they instinctively work together to tilt the shelves across the door and then push the desk against them. 

"That's not going to hold them for long," Liz gasped, trying to catch her breath.

"No shit! Help me get this window open." There were barred windows, and Arackniss was pulling at the bars. 

The robots were pushing against the door, their saws eating through the door. There was no other way out of the room. If they didn't get out through the window, they would be ripped to shreds by saws. 

"Move!" Liz yelled, raising the ax and sinking it into the wood near the metal frame. 

She chopped while Arackniss yanked. After three swings, the blade of the ax scraped against a thick screw, and with a wrench, Arackniss pulled the corner free. Then Liz began working on the next corner at the bottom. They just had to loosen the lower edges of the frame and lift it and smash through glass.

There was a crash from the door, and a robot reared its head. Before it could push its way in, its right eyeglass burst, and the head exploded as a bullet tore through whatever it used as a brain. It sagged across the desk, out of commission and blocking the other robots from getting inside. 

"Get that fucking window opened!" Arackniss yelled, holding the smoking gun, readying to take another shot. "I'll try to keep them off of us."

Liz swung hard, and the blade hit metal. Fuck, it warped the screw, bending it inward at a hook. She pulled with all her mind, but the corner resisted. Another shot ended a second robot. Liz drew a deep breath, fingers curling around the edge of the bars and pulled hard, pulling until her arms went numb and the metal cut into her hands. The wood whined as she tore the screw through the wood. 

"It's open!" She yelled.

"Break the glass!"

With one hand holding the bars above her head, she smashed the window with the ax. "C'mon!"

Within seconds they were on the second level and running across the roof. Liz didn't know if the robots could climb through windows, but she wasn't going to wait to see. The uneven levels worked in their favor, as it made it easier to get to the lower level. Arackniss was able to drop and land on his feet, but Liz had to lower herself by her hands for fear of breaking an ankle. 

When they made it to the ground level, there was a bright red convertible, of all things, parked nearby. Arackniss headed for it as soon as he hit the ground. Liz climbed down, hung from the roof for a moment, and then dropped. Landing on her ass, she took a moment to listen. No buzz saws were rending the air, and looking up, she couldn't see any signs of pursuit. Did the robots give up? Or were they making their way outside to come after them?

"Get your ass over here!" Arackniss peered angrily from the driver's seat. 

Liz got to her feet and jogged over. "What . . .?"

He was hotwiring the convertible. When the car hummed to life, Arackniss moved over to the passenger side. "Get in. Do you know the way back to the city?"

"No.” Now that she was no longer running for her life, she felt like the world was still running away, and she was being left behind. 

"I'll tell ya which way to drive," Arackniss said, sitting down in the seat. He drew a deep breath and released it as he slowly relaxed, visibly exhausted from the run. 

"I can't leave without my father," Liz said, shaking her head and not getting into the car. 

Arackniss sighed, almost regretfully, which set her on edge. Then casually pointed the gun at her. "Get in and start driving."

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Liz growled. "This is bullshit. You don't need me . . ." She looked over Arackniss's short stature to the tall steering wheel. "You need me to drive because you can't see over the steering wheel, right?"

"Shut the fuck up," there was bite in Arackniss's tone now, "and get in the goddamn car."

"No, I'm going back in there for my father," Liz said, slamming the car door shut. 

"He's dead."

"You can't possibly know that."

"It's a good guess," Arackniss shrugged. "Just drop me off in Pentagram City, and you can come here and look for your pops orget chopped up, whatever."

"Or you can walk," Liz snorted. 

"Last warning, bitch, get in the fucking car." All eight eyes were narrowing dangerously. 

"You're not going to shoot me because you're too smart for that," Liz crossed her arms, her hands squeezing her elbows to keep them from shaking. "You may shoot to wound me, but I'm human, remember? I can't heal like demons can. I could go into shock or bleed out, which means I'll be in no condition to drive." Then she reached into her pocket for her phone and held it out. "Here's my phone. Call somebody to come pick you up."

"Lady, I'm tryn' to help you here. You go back in there, ya ain't comin’ out." 

"Then that's my problem.” She hoped she sounded braver than she felt. “Do you want to make a call or not? I'll need my phone for the light." 

After staring at her for a long time, he holstered the phone and reached for the phone, which she willingly handed to him. Usually, she would step away to give the caller privacy, but she didn't dare for fear of Arackniss pulling another stunt. 

"Pops . . .yeah, it's me," Arackniss said in his usual neutral tone. "Yeah, yeah, a little bang up, but I'm fine. Long story . . .no, the others are dead . . .look, I need ya to send someone to . . .wait, wait, Anthony? No, he ain't with me!"

There was an unusual note of worry in the neutral voice. Arackniss stared at the building, all eight eyes going round. "Shit, Pops, I . . . I gotta go . . .look, I'll call you later . . .I will call you later."

He hung up and tossed the phone at her. She managed to catch it with both hands. "What's wrong?"

"Is this your car?" Arackniss was standing on the driver's side, smacking the steering wheel with one hand. 

"No, my father’s car is parked somewhere else."

"Goddammit," Arackniss hissed under his breath as he opened the glove compartment. "Anthony, I swear . . . you better not have . . .aw fuck!" The glove apartment dropped open, and several plastic bags of white dust fell onto the floorboard.

Liz stepped back and waited to see what Arackniss would say or do. He was staring at the bags fuming silently, turned off the engine, and got out of the car. She watched him walk past her, raking his hair out of his face, and muttering to himself. 

"C'mon," Arackniss said over his shoulder. "My dumbass brother is in there too. Let's go find 'em."

***

First, Liz led Arackniss back to Marty's car to make sure it was still there, and he hadn't returned while she was gone. She didn't think he would be there, but it was still disheartening to see the empty car. At least the front doors where he had entered were still opened. It wasn't a wasted trip as there was a second gun in the glove compartment.

It was a revolver that lay heavy in her hands. Arackniss eyed it and then her. "Do you know how to shoot that thing?"

"Other than pull the trigger? I've trained with a pistol, but not with this."

"Ever shoot anyone before?" Arackniss said, cocking one of his larger eyes.

"Uh, I never had to . . ." 

"Hand it over." Arackniss plucked it from her fingers and tucked it into his pants. Before she could protest, he pointed out, "How do I know you ain't gonna freeze up when we're attacked? And not shoot me by mistake?"

She couldn't argue that Arackniss was a better shot than her and more experienced with guns. So she resolved to be the lightbearer with the phone and bring the axe along. They went the same way Marty had entered Lirkin Mill and into the darkness. It was a nerve wracking as any second, she feared they were going to come across blood or a torn apart Marty. Was he hanging downstairs like those poor demons with limbs hacked off and suspended by chains? 

Arackniss grunted when they saw the first neon sign. "I think I know which way he went."

"Right into an obvious trap . . .why didn't he just turn around . . .” As she spoke, she turned and stared in utter confusion at the multiple doorways feeding into different halls. "Which . . .which way did we come? And we were in a hall? I thought it was open space . . ."

"Finally noticed it, huh?" Arackniss said. "It's an optical illusion using darkness, distraction, and maybe some demon power keeps ya confused and lost."

"Could demon power prevent a phone signal from getting out?" She recalled the undelivered messages.

"It's possible, but more likely, the building itself blocks out signals. This place was built long before wireless phones came out." Arackniss regarded the neon sign with suspicion. "Sure makes it convenient for the cannibal to trap people."

"Do . . .do you think we'll get to them in time?" Liz asked as they continued forward. 

"Dunno," Arackniss replied. "Anthony's an idiot and a filly at that, but he's a tough bastard when he needs to be."

She felt she needed to speak on Marty's behalf, but came up short. "Well . . . Marty's kinda tough too . . .brave because he walked in here alone . . .or maybe that's idiocy."

"Looks like he got pissed," Arackniss said later when they came across a broken sign. 

Shards of glass littered the floor beneath the sign like broken teeth after a fight. Liz didn't know if this was a good sign or not. At least, it meant they were on the right track. They came to a steep ramp leading upward. Arackniss traversed it quickly on his thin spindly legs while Liz had to use hands and feet to scale it. 

Arackniss went ahead of her and paused at the top. "Hey, I see someone down there."

She had to reach up, grasp the edge of the ramp, and haul herself up beside Arackniss. Propping her chin on the edge, she looked down and nearly strangled herself. "That's. . .that’s my Dad . . .”

The lower floor was a field of rebar poles shoved into the concrete like a spiked pit. Marty was impaled on three of them; one jutted through his chest, a second through his left thigh, and the last spitted his right arm. He wasn't moving. 

Everything in her went cold and stiff at the sight of him. "I . . .I have to get down there to him."

With impossible balance, Arackniss stepped onto the thin edge and looked downward. "There's a metal frame you could climb down, but be careful. I ain't catchin' ya if you fall."

So Liz climbed down, almost having to feel for each foot and handhold as she descended. More than once, she almost slipped and for that terrifying moment before she caught herself, imagined being impaled upon rebars. It was nerve wracking, and she couldn't relax until her feet were on solid ground, and even then, her worries went to Marty. 

Seeing him up close, she couldn't imagine how he could still be alive. There was so much blood, and the injuries alone were enough to kill someone instantly. How long has he been like this? The blood seemed fresh, but did demon blood clot like a human's? She eased her way through the rebar towards Marty, but had no idea of what she should do when she got there. 

Unconcerned and unfazed, Arackniss nimbly climbed down the frame with greater ease than should be possible, much to Liz's chagrin. He hopped easily from rail to rail until he landed on the ground. Then he weaved through the field of rebar, past Liz who had caught the edge of her sleeve on a sharp pole, to Marty’s side. And without further ado, he began slapping the larger demon's face with an open palm. 

"C'mon, ya big palooka, wake the fuck up. What kinda demon dies from something as little as this?" 

"Oh my God, stop that!" Liz made her way through the rebar spikes, her long coat catching on the spikes, and had to tug free before reaching Marty and Arackniss.

By the time she arrived Marty's eyes were opened, and he was staring at Arackniss in a confused stupor. "Angel D-Dust . . .what . . .what happened to you?"

Making a disgusted noise, Arackniss gave Marty another smack. "So ya saw 'im? Anthony - I mean Angel Dust?"

"Yeah, he was . . ." Then Marty noticed Liz, and his dark and blue eyes went wide and narrowed into tiny bits of ice. "What the fuck are you doing here!? I told you to wait in the car!"

"I was worried," Liz replied. "I saw this robot dragging body parts into the mill, so I followed it . . ."

"Christ! You see somethin' like that, and you follow it!? Marty's voice was strained, and the anger made it rattle in his throat. "You do what I tell you and . . ."

"Shut up," Arackniss hissed, dropping to a knee and drawing his gun. "I hear 'em comin'."

***

"Oh fuck," Marty rasped. With a strength that defied his injuries, he seized Lizzie by the arm and yanked her down across his torso. "Stay down. Just stay down . . ."

Exhausted from blood loss and dizzy with pain, he pushed through it to activate his camouflage. He could hide them both until the danger has passed. He could protect her, keep her safe. 

"Arackniss," Lizzie whispered, reaching out and caught the spider demon by the arm and pulled him down with them. Marty grunted as the smaller demon landed on his stomach, beneath the rebar through his chest. He was pinned down with Lizzie's arm across his narrow waist. "Don't worry. Dad can hide us."

_ No! Lizzie, I'm protecting only you! I can't hide all three of us!  _ He wanted to tell her, but it was taking all his energy to keep up the camouflage. Speaking would distract him or cut his concentration short. 

The spider demon, Angel Dusts's look alike, wriggled against Lizzie grasp. Marty hoped he would break loose and be a distraction, but he went still as soon as a set of double doors burst open. Automatons rolled in single wheels dragging chains that rattled behind them. Marty's hand pressed Lizzie against his chest, focusing everything on maintaining the camouflage. The robots stopped at the edge of the circle of rebar, block like heads turning this way and that, seeking. Marty didn't dare breathe and hoped Lizzie and the little bastard had the sense to stay still and silent. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Arackniss slowly raised his gun. It was visible just at the edge of the camouflage field. Marty bared his teeth, not daring to growl, but wanting to bite off the spider's tiny hand at the wrist. The little fucker was going to draw their attention to Lizzie! 

If the little shit missed, those things would be on them. Lizzie would be ripped apart in his arms. He would feel her blood soaking his clothes, her screams in his ears, and her life would leave his embrace. 

A series of shots erupted from above. Bullets peppered the automatons, lighting up the area with sparks. As the automatons turned their attention upward, Arackniss fired. Marty closed his eyes, his concentration at an end, and he held Lizzie close, teeth bared in futile aggression at whatever danger would dare touch her. 

When the shots stopped, the smoke cleared, and the automatons lying motionless on the ground, Marty opened his eyes and found Lizzie gone. In a mad panic, he tried to sit up and groaned in agony as the rebar resisted his movement.

"Stay still, Dad." She was kneeling beside him, holding onto a bloody piece of rebar. "Arackniss said you'd start to heal once we get this metal out of you."

"Where is the little shit?" Marty growled. 

"Over there with his brother, the tall pink spider with the gold tooth. I think they are either having a family reunion or bitching each other out." Not far away, but out of earshot, the spider brothers were having a heated discussion. The small dark one glared up at the tall pink spider who loomed with a snide grin. 

Lizzie set the rebar aside and grasped the one in his thigh. "Ready?"

“W-wait . . .fuck me!”

She wrenched the rebar to the side and then to the other. Her face going red from the effort, she managed to wrench it free of his flesh in a brief spurt of blood. He sucked in a deep breath, and with the last rebar through his chest, it was agonizing. 

"There!" She set the bloody rebar next to the other one and reached for the last one.

"Wait, wait," he heaved. "I need a minute . . ."

"We don't have a minute. Arackniss says if you aren't up by the time he's ready to go, they'll leave us behind."

"Shit . . ." Marty moaned. "Go ahead . . .get it over with."

After she removed the last one, he rolled onto his side and threw up blood. Lizzie patted his shoulders until he recovered and was able to breathe normally. He could feel his body slowly repairing the damage. The holes filling in with flesh would soon be unmarked skin again, but he would be sore as hell for a few days.

He forced himself onto his feet and reached for his flask, but it was missing. Great, just when he needed a drink most. Lizzie stood close in case he needed the support, and her presence soothed the pain somewhat. He needed to get her out of here before those things came back. 

The spider brothers ceased whatever harshed conversation they were having and strolled over. Arackniss regarded Marty with an analytical glare similar to his brother's, except free of any sexual appetite. "Are you healing?"

"Yeah," Marty replied evenly. "What are you planning?"

"Anthony . . ." Arackniss started.

"Angel Dust," the taller spider corrected. 

"Anthony," Arackniss persisted, "managed to catch onto the metal walkway when the trap floor fell. He did some exploring and thinks he knows where the center of this shithole is. That's a good a place as any to find this Brian Hartly you're lookin' for."

Marty shot Lizzie a scathing look and regarded Arackniss through narrowed eyes. "You're not helping us out of the goodness of your heart, are you?"

"Nope," Arackniss shook his head and crossed all four arms. "This place is a maze with traps and those clankers running around. Best bet is to find the asshole in charge of this place. We take him out. You get whatever it is you're after, and I can dish a little payback for what happened to my boys. After that, we go our separate ways."

Before Marty had a chance to speak, Lizzie nodded, "Sounds good to me."

"Wait, Lizzie, we can't. . ."

"Dad, they're in the same boat as us," Lizzie said, firmly. She gave him a look he had seen numerous times on Alice’s face when she was about to deliver some logic that would end an argument. "Arackniss and I have been all over this place. He's not lying about the traps and those robot things are really dangerous. With the four of us working together, we have a better shot of surviving this place."

He would never admit this, but he didn't think he was in any condition to protect her himself. His body was still weak and healing, and having two able bodied demons that could fight would increase their chances of survival. He didn’t trust the little spider, and while Marty had enjoyed being Angel’s client, he didn’t know the pink spider that much more than his brother. However, Lizzie was right, as long as this place a threat to all of them, they could guard each other’s back. 

"Alright. We have a deal."

"Since that's settled, I gotta question," Angel Dust said, stepping towards Lizzie, lower hands on hips and upper arms crossed sternly beneath his furry bosom. "Dollface, whattaya doin' with my coat?"

Lizzie blinked, almost shirking away from the taller spider. "Your coat? I found this in my Dad's closet . . ." She turned her gaze to Marty, who was looking away, his face tinged with color. 

"Oh, so that's where it's been," Angel Dust smirked at Marty. "Did ya check it for sticky spots before ya tried it on?"

Marty eyed the rebar spikes, contemplating throwing himself on them again, and seeing if they would finish the job of killing him.


	10. Arc 2: Murder Mill - Brian Hartly

Liz thought about what she would be doing now if she was home. Maybe going over upcoming court cases or doing the rounds at the hospitals and homes or making phone calls. Perhaps even having a cup of coffee while checking and replying to emails. Instead, she was in Hell, in a lumber mill turned murder dungeon, and getting a piggyback ride from a tall pink spider demon. Two of his hands cupped the back of her knees, keeping her legs locked around his waist while the other two climbed. He smelled like sugary cotton candy with a dash of musk and sex. 

"Careful with the goods, Doll," the spider demon crooned. "I usually charge folks to touch what you're handlin'."

"S-sorry," she whispered, relaxing her grip on him, but not too much. The rebar spikes were still below them. Her arms were crossed across his chest, which she had thought were breasts, but was actually a thick poof of fur. The fur was quite soft and silky, reminding her of the time she visited an angora rabbit farm as a child and petted the floofy rabbits. 

Dad had wanted to carry her, but Arackniss pointed out that he was still recovering in his usual pragmatic way, and they were in a hurry. Anthony . . .or Angel Dust, as the pink spider insisted on being called . . .was strong enough to bear her weight and had two extra arms for climbing. Liz said she could climb by herself, but Dad nixed that idea, caving into Arackniss’s idea. If Liz fell, he’d have someone to punish. 

When they were halfway up, Liz took an opportunity to assuage her curiosity. She whispered, "Did you date my Dad?"

Angel Dust erupted into a giggle that shook his shoulders and Liz with them. "I guess you could say that . . .as long as he can afford me."

"Ohhhhhh," Liz whispered, remembering Angel Dust's earlier comment and connecting the dots. "So you left this coat at my Dad's apartment the last time he . . ."

"Paid 300 dollars to bang me," Angel Dust finished, taking mischievous delight in this revelation. 

Well, she supposed it does get lonely in Hell, and the sex work was as ancient as the Bible. It shouldn't surprise her there were sex workers in Hell, and her father employed one, but she was still stunned. And it raised a lot of questions that can wait until after they left this place.

When they reached the top, Angel Dust let her down, and it was still a bit of a drop. She checked to make sure her axe was still tucked in the tied sleeves around her waist. It was there, and though it may not be useful against a murderous robot, she felt better in having it.

Arackniss and Marty made it to the top in short order. Her father's movements were stiff, indicating that his healing injuries still bothered him, but at least he could move after being impaled on rebar spikes, which was more than could be said if a human had suffered the same injuries. 

"I'm going ahead," Marty said, adjusting his bloodstained coat. 

Before anyone could argue, he went invisible, and only the sounds of his footsteps revealed the direction he was taking.

"Look for the signs, Weeps," Angel Dust called. The halls would have been impossible to navigate if not for the crudely drawn signs, which weren't arrows, but dicks sketched in lipstick. 

"How . . .how did you know which way to go?" Liz said, eyeing a detailed sketch of an ejaculating dick with little curl pube hair. 

"The nose knows," Angel Dust said, giving her a wink and tapping his nose. "This guy has some uncut cocaine stashed somewhere. I can smell that shit a mile away."

"And you would know," Arackniss muttered. "Couldn't hide it from you . . .even when we were alive, I hid a stash and it be gone the next day." 

"S'not my fault ya can't hide shit," Angel Dust replied. "No wonder the coppers kept finding Pops' speakeasies."

"Shut up your face, Anthony."

The way they spoke, dressed, and acted . . .and speakeasies? Holy shit, she was walking with two bonafide gangsters from the '30s or '40s. She knew a couple of guys from the office who were huge Godfather fans who would sell their firstborn to have a conversation with these two. The realization that she was walking with two pieces of American history weighed on her. If the situation wasn’t so dire, and she had a big interest in American history, she would be begging them for stories about the old days of the 20s through 40s. 

Arackniss stopped, raising a hand to halt them. "Fuck, I hear 'em."

"How many?" Angel Dust raised all four arms, each holding a gun (a pistol, tommy gun, shotgun, and revolver).

Arackniss listened for a moment, and all eight eyes went wide. "All of 'em."

"The asshole is panickin'. We're gettin' close," Angel Dust said, almost leering at them. "Let's go!"

Before Liz could react, Angel Dust holstered a gun, grabbed her wrist, and took off so fast, she was pulled off her feet. Angel Dust's long legs could rival a gazelle's, and Arackniss was quick despite his shorter size. They soon overtook Marty, who reappeared, staring at them in outrage and opened his mouth to demand answers for what he perceived as carelessness, but they could all hear the buzzing and metal echoing through the halls. Without a word, he ran with them, falling behind the spider brother's faster pace. Liz supposed that was a good thing because if she slipped from Angel Dust's grip, her father could scoop her up and run with her.

Eventually, they ran past the drawn dicks and could only rely on Angel Dust's sense of smell. Like a bloodhound, he had to stop and sniff the air to get the scent of cocaine. 

"Hurry up!" Arackniss barked. "They're getting closer!"

They didn't need Arackniss's superior hearing to know that. The roar of saws reverberated throughout the halls. Liz looked around wildly, expecting to see a robot bearing down upon them from around any corner. Angel Dust picked up the scent and took off, leading them down the wall, and around a corner to a set of stairs, he took three a time. 

"It's up here! Right up here!" Angel Dust called as they started up the stairs after him. 

Arackniss stopped midway and turned, taking a shot and blowing off a robot's head as it appeared at the top. Marty almost carried Liz up the stairs, gathering her up and tucking her under his armpit. She was too scared to protest or struggle against being carried. At the top of the stairs and down a short hall was a large metal door like a bank's vault. Angel Dust was kicking it, cursing it in English and Italian. 

"It's locked! I can't get in!"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Marty dropped Liz onto her feet and hammered the metal with both fists. "Open this goddamn door, Hartly! You fuckin' coward!"

Liz could barely breathe with terror filling her chest and squeezing her heart. Was this a panic attack? 

Arackniss appeared at the top of the stairs, walking backward as he popped off shot after shot. "What's goin' on?"

"We're gonna make a stand, big brother," Angel Dust announced, grinning wide enough for his gold tooth to glint. "Just we did when the O'Malleys hit us."

Arackniss returned the grin, the first Liz had seen him smile since finding him in the dungeon, and it stretched from ear to ear with malicious glee. "We were the ones who walked away from that one."

"And that was before we died," Angel Dust replied. 

"Lizzie, give me the ax," Marty said, taking the ax from her before she could hand it over herself. "Keep your head down and . . .just keep your head down." He almost told her not to worry, but she could see the fear in his eyes. She wasn't a child that could be so easily reassured, as she knew what was coming for them. 

The spider brothers stood side by side, all four hands filled with guns. Then a third set of arms popped out from their long torsos, each bearing two more guns. Marty stood between them, holding the ax with both hands, and to Liz's eyes seemed that his shoulders were broader, thicker somehow and his tail was stiff as it lashed the floor. 

The shooting started as soon as the first robot reared its head above the stairs. The spider brothers together formed their own battalion, releasing a deluge of bullets and gunfire. With twelve guns between them, they blasted through wave after wave of robots. As one gun empties, a set of hands reloaded while the others kept firing. Even crouched down with her hands covering her ears, she could see the nuances in their styles. Arackniss was like a crack shot, every pull of the trigger ended a robot's function with pinpoint precision. Angel Dust was the spray and pray sort who peppered the oncoming assailants with bullets until they went down. Once came close enough for Angel Dust to shove the shotgun into the barrel chest and fire point-blank. 

The robots that managed to survive the barrage had Marty to contend with. What Marty lacked in gunmanship, he made up for with melee skills. Marty buried the ax into the head of a robot and then kicked it away. It fell backward, landing on it's back and tilted side to side as it swung its arms, saws roaring. Angel Dust finished it off by placing a foot on its chest and unloading a full round into its head with a shotgun.

Liz didn't know how long the fight lasted. It could have been five minutes or five hours. The blast of gunfire echoing in her ears long after the last robot fell. The entire hall was filled with the smoking carcasses of robots and the air filled with the acidic smell of smoke, oil, and sweat. 

The spider brothers were panting, guns still raised, and their shoulders, all three sets, rose and fell. Marty was bent double, wheezing, his tail twitching on the floor between his feet. Liz sat on the floor, numb, breathless, and wondering if she was experiencing shellshock. 

"Anymore, Niss?" Angel Dust asked.

The smaller spider was quiet for a moment. "I think that's it . . .for now."

"Then let's get inside," Marty wheezed.

They couldn’t force the vault open, but they could knock out the hinges with the ax and a robot's arm. The door was poorly constructed, likely because whoever was behind it never expected anyone to make it this far. When it opened, a shot rang out, the bullet bounced off the edge of the vault door, and almost grazed Marty. With a cry of fury, Marty charged in with the spiders right behind him.

Liz followed suit as the sounds of a struggle, and a cry of pain erupted from within. The inside looked like a villainous control room if one could call it that. There was a wall of monitors with staticky images of parts of the mills with an extended control panel. Arackniss was standing on a chair, experimentally pulling levers and flipping switches. In the corner, her father was wrestling with another demon on the floor while Angel Dust stood back watching but stepped in to deliver a well aimed kick when the opportunity presented itself. 

The room also served as a living area with a musty cott, plates, and bowls of gristle and bones. Her eyes burned as the smell assailed her nose. It was of piss, rotten food, and foul body odor, and it was no surprise that the demon her father had pinned to the floor was a rat.

A long hairless tail with flaky skin slither on the floor, and the thing squeaked as Marty punched it in the head again. One last kick to the face from Angel Dust ended his struggles, and he went still. Marty shoved him face down and wrenched his hands behind his back. "Get something to tie him up with."

"Here ya go," Angel Dust reached into his chest puff and pulled out a pair of fluffy handcuffs.

There was an incredulous look from Marty, who looked as he wanted to ask why Angel Dust would walk around with such an item, but put his attention back to the task at hand. 

"I turned off robots," Arackniss said, hopping down from the chair. "Nothing is coming after us anymore so that we can take our time."

Liz approached the rat, which Marty was propping up against the wall. He looked like an actual rat with the round, wrinkled ears, long face with black nose, and beady eyes that focused on her. The whiskers twitched as she drew closer, and sharp teeth bared.

"You . . ." he hissed in a ragged whisper. "I knew you'd end up down here, bitch."

"Fuck you, Hartly," Liz replied. "Always knew you were a fucking little rat, and it seems like Hell knew it too."

"So this is the guy?" Marty demanded, wanting confirmation before he got down to business.

"Yeah, it's him," Liz nodded. "Likes to harass women going into abortion clinics, leave little presents for the protestors to throw. Remember that, Hartly?"

"I was doing God's work . . ." Hartly snarled.

"And look where it ya," Liz replied, nastily. "Hiding in a pisshole, eating people like a goddamn cannibal. Shame the bus couldn't hit you twice."

Marty stood, interposing himself between Liz and the rat. "Alright, Arackniss, is it safe to leave?"

"Should be," Arackniss said, glancing at the security monitors. "I turned on all the lights, and the robots are all dead."

"Good. Liz, go back to the car."

She blinked. "Excuse me? No. I'm staying here."

"You don't need to be here for this," Marty replied, solemnly, his eyes not meeting hers

"I want to be here." Liz crossed her arms, determined to stay. "I know what you're going to do to him, and I want to watch."

Marty glanced at the spider brothers. "Would one of you do me a solid and take her out of here?"

Angel Dust, who was rifling through Hartley’s meager possessions, found what he was looking for. Hidden within the pages of a thick hardcover book was a flat baggie of powder which he sniffed appreciatively before tucking it away in his chest puff. "I'll take her outside."

"Wait, no," Liz began, but it was hard to struggle against someone who was a few feet taller and with four hands. She was whisked away through the vault door with one last look at Marty and Hartly. 

Her father was looming over the rat with his large hands clenched at his sides. 

***

It was late afternoon when they emerged from the mill. When they first arrived, the morning seemed so long ago, a lifetime compared to the hours it had really been. Liz felt the events of those hours of fear, running, fighting, and outrage suddenly take its toll on her body and psyche, and she just wanted to lie down and sleep. Angel Dust seemed to be in high spirits, especially after taking a moment to snort a pinch of cocaine. 

However, the good mood didn't last when he saw the state of the red convertible. "Aw, shit."

It was totaled as if it was involved in a massive wreck. The front, back, and sides were wrenched apart. The tires were shredded to ribbons. And the seats had been massacred into flaps of leather with the fluff insides spread across the dirt. 

However, it wasn't the car he was concerned for. "My drugs!" 

He dashed to the passenger side, saw the glove compartment Arackniss had left open, and began gathering the baggies of drugs to him as if they were drowned kittens. "Okay, no big loss . . . Only lost two."

He began tucking them away into his chest poof and jacket. Liz felt it important to mention, "It wasn't like this when we last saw it."

"No worries," Angel Dust said, smoothing his hair into place. "It wasn't my car anyway."

"Oh God, what if they got to Dad's car too!"

Thankfully, her fear was unfounded. The car was untouched as it had been when she last saw it. Maybe the robots couldn't find it or didn’t have time to smash it before being summoned to kill them. Either way, seeing it was a welcoming sight, and Liz promptly opened the back door and crawled into the backseat to rest. 

Angel Dust leaned against the passenger door and took out a lighter and a cigarette pack. Crimson smoke rose from the stick's end as he drew a deep drag, and he regarded Liz lying facedown on the back seat. 

"Ya know, your dad and I fucked in this car," he said with a wicked toothy grin. "If I remember right, the backseat had a little bounce in it."

"I'm just too tired to care right now," Liz replied, not taking the bait. "What do you think they're doing to him?"

"Knowing Arackniss, he'll give him a once over t' soften him up and see what shakes loose," Angel Dust said, flicking ash from the cigarette. "Then he'll really get t' work on 'em."

Liz burrowed her face into her folded arms. It wasn't him. Brian Hartly was not the one who tried to have her killed. The asshole likely didn’t have two pennies to rub together, much less enough money to hire assassins. After everything they had gone through today, they were still back at square one. 

They still didn't know who wanted her dead. 

***

"Don't lie to me!" Marty snarled, his teeth inches from Brian's broken nose. 

"I'm not!" Brian shrieked as Marty raised a fist. "I never had anything to do with I.M.P. I never hired them for anything!"

Marty punched him hard enough to send stained teeth rolling across the floor. The rat curled up like the sack of shit he was, weeping and mewling. Hartly always had someone else do his dirty work for him. Whether it was protestors with rocks or robots with saws, he still hid in the background and took glee in being the manipulator watching the destruction from afar using religion and hunger as a reason. Now he was taking the brunt of the repercussions of his actions, and it was breaking him. 

Marty kicked him several times in the ribs, eliciting a pained shout from each blow. Brian could do little to protect himself as both legs and right arm were broken. Marty reared back to give the rat another bone-breaking kick. 

"He's tellin' the truth," a calm neutral voice from behind spoke.

Marty dropped his foot and glared at the spider demon sitting on the cot, enjoying the show. "How the fuck do you know?"

"Look around you," Arackniss waved a hand to the inside of the vault. "Does this guy look like he can afford I.M.P? This asshole's been livin' in his own shit and jury-rigged this place to hunt food because he can't afford to live in the city. He ain't your guy."

Marty glared but said nothing. He fumed over the trembling rat, tempted to resume kicking him again until something broke. 

Arackniss shrugged nonchalantly. "Or you can keep beating him until he cops to it, but he still won't be your guy."

"Fuck you," Marty snapped but knew Arackniss was right. He waisted all his time in this shit, for nothing . . .well, not nothing. He could cross a name off the list, and that was a step in the right direction. Kneeling by the rat, he reached into his pocket and drew out the angel blade that had, by some miracle, hadn't been lost. 

He seized Brian by the nape of the neck and forced his head up to look him in the eye. The black beady eyes were wet with tears and bright with utter terror. "I got one last question. Do you know who paid I.M.P to kill Lizz . . .Elizabeth Carter?"

The rat shook his head. "I don't know! I've been out here for years. Please, don't hurt me . . ."

"I believe you," Marty said, almost gently and slit Brian Hartly's throat with the blade.

***

Marty's throat ached for a drink. His flask had run dry, and Brian Hartly's possessions yielded nothing to remedy that. God, he needed to get back to the city or a waystation before his hands started shaking. 

"So someone hired I.M.P to kill Liz," Arackniss said. It wasn't a question. 

Marty looked down at the smaller demon and glowered at him. "It's none of your business."

"Fair enough," Arackniss shrugged. "But I'm gonna give my two cents all the same."

After searching Brian's lair and finding nothing of value or consequence, they left that place, leaving behind the rat's still bleeding body and forgetting it as if it was discarded refuse. They waded through the dead robots, the mill's old workers, and followed the signs left behind Angel Dust back to the rebar spike trap. 

"If I was you," Arackniss said, pausing to light up a cigarette he must have pawned off Angel Dust when Marty wasn't looking. He took a short drag and exhaled a long stream through his teeth. "I would toss her through the next portal back to Earth. Being a human in Hell . . ." The dark spider shook his head and shrugged. "Well, it ain't good."

At Marty's feet were bloodstains he recognized as his own. They have since dried into dark patches on the concrete. He scraped one with the toe of his shoe and it came off in rusty flakes. "You know it's not that easy."

"I know," Arackniss replied, almost somberly. "Look, I owe you and Liz, and I don't like owin' people. So I'm gonna keep my mouth shut about her and so will Anthony. He's a loudmouth filly, but he knows how t' keep a secret. And if you have any more names on that list, give 'im to me, and I'll put my contacts on it, see what they can turn up. Maybe we can hit up that courier group and see who sent the message in the first place."

"And you can be quiet about it?" Marty asked. Having the contacts of another group helping him find Tim Rathel and Agness Fuller would be useful if Shard's contacts didn't pull through or provided misleading information. Still, he wasn't willing to give Arackniss his full trust. 

"We're spiders. We know how to handle things discreetly."


	11. Arc 2: Murder Mill - Aftermath of the Mill

"When I say stay in the fuckin' car, you stay in the fuckin' car."

"Are you seriously doing this now?" Liz cried incredulously. 

"You goddamn right I am."

They left the mill behind them like a bad memory. Marty blew smoke out the cracked car window, and the nicotine was doing little to ease back the annoyance and fury simmering beneath his scales. Lizzie sat with her arms crossed, shaking her head, like a petulant teenager, she must have been twenty years ago. 

"I was worried about you . . ."

"Then worry about me, but don't try to save me. If shit happens, save yourself." He glared at her, black and blue eyes narrowing into tight slits. "How many times did you almost die today?"

"I wasn't keeping count," Lizzie muttered.

"I was! Every time goddamn a robot came up those stairs, you almost died."

"Dad, if it weren't for me, you'd still be stuck on rebar, and Arackniss would be strung up in the basement."

"Oh, don't get me started on that little shit," Marty growled at the name of whom he blamed for almost getting Liz killed more times than was necessary. "My camouflage is only good for two people. Don't be a hero, Lizzie. Not for me or anyone. I pulled it off is because he's so fucking little. He didn't count as a whole person."

"Dad!" Lizzie cried, shocked. "He's in the back seat!"

Behind them, filling the backseats, was Arackniss and Angel Dust. The smaller spider was sitting with all four arms crossed and glaring at the driver's seat in front of him. The taller pink spider was sitting back and enjoying the show. Lizzie insisted Marty give them a ride back to Pentagram City like the couple of stray dog they were. 

"Oh, I'm sorry . . .Arackniss, can you hear me back there?" Marty called over his shoulder. "Should I speak up louder?"

"Nope, I can hear ya just fine," Arackniss said dryly.

"Dad, leave Arackniss alone,” Liz begged, embarrassed by her father. 

"Don't say his name like you expected better of him," Marty growled, unconcerned. "When are you going to understand that you are in Hell? This is where all the bad people go when they die. He only let you tag along with him because he was gonna use you as a distraction to get away."

"He came back for me when a robot almost killed me," Liz pointed out, refusing to relinquish any ground in the argument.

"Tell her why you did that," Marty threw over his shoulder at the spider demon. 

There was a sigh and a shrug from Arackniss. "I had a hunch the robots' eyes were their weak point. I figured while it was busy killin' you, I'd test it out. Lucky for you, it worked."

"Well, shit," Liz said, sagging in the seat, almost feeling dejected. 

"What? You thought you made a friend?" Marty barked at her. "You can't trust anyone in Hell."

"You got that right," Liz muttered under her breath, but it didn't go unnoticed.

"What does that mean?" Marty growled. 

"Whatever you want it to mean," Liz said, scowling. "Ya know what? Who wants to trade seats with me? I don't think I'm comfortable in the front anymore."

"I'll trade, doll!" Angel Dust declared, already rising from his seat.

"Hey, hey! What are you . . .goddammit, stoppit!" Marty yelled. 

Liz unbuckled the seatbelt and turned in the seat. She ducked beneath Angel Dust, who nimbly climbed over her and lowered himself into the front seat while Liz settled into the backseat. She leaned against the window, avoiding eye contact with Arackniss. 

"Hey," Angel Dust said in a low flirtatious voice as he gave Marty bedroom eyes. "It's been a while since you and I went on a ride."

Marty swallowed, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as sweat formed on his brow. "Yeah . . .a while."

Arackniss moaned. "Just let me out here if you're gonna act like fags."

"Shut up, Sally," Angel Dust tossed over his shoulder. 

"My name's Salvatore, you piece of shit."

"Just stop it!" Liz moaned. "My God! You can take down an army of killer robots like a coordinated assault team, but you can't ride together in a car?"

***

Arackniss directed Marty to their gang's territory and got out. Lizzie, ever being the caring soul that she shouldn't be, asked if he would be safe walking alone at night. The spider demon gave her a quizzical look and said, "These are my streets. Everyone knows I can shoot the wings off a fly at a hundred feet when I'm in a good mood. Nobody wants to see how well I shoot when I'm pissed."

With the backseat to herself, Lizzie stretched out and fell asleep. Marty kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror, fearful that she had been hurt after all. God, he hadn't been dead too long not to remember what it was to take someone to a hospital after a traumatic event or insist they see a doctor. 

There was pressure on his knee, and he looked over at Angel Dust, who had been suspiciously silent since Arackniss got out. "Y-yeah?"

In a mirror of his brother, Angel Dust said, "I owe you a favor for helpin' us out back there, and I don't like owin' favors . . .some of the time."

"You . . .you don't have to owe me . . ." Marty said, swallowing as his throat tightened. 

The grip on his knee moved up to his thigh. "Ya sure? A freebie with me ain't somethin' people turned down."

Drawing a breath and glancing back at Liz, who was still asleep. He could park the car in an alley and spend a few minutes with Angel Dust while Lizzie slept. Temptation squeezed his throat as he recalled the touch of Angel Dust's fur, the soft sigh he made upon penetration, and that candy smell that made him taste something sweet on his tongue. 

He was looking for an alley to pull into or maybe an empty parking lot when Lizzie leaned forward between the car seats. There was a smugness on her face he recognized when she was a child who thought she was getting away with something. 

"Dad, instead of getting your jollies, why not ask for something we need?" She said, looking between them. Marty was sitting straight as a rail with his face going several sickly shades of grey, and Angel Dust gave her a bemused look. "I need clothes, namely shoes."

"What? My coat ain't enough for you?" Angel Dust asked.

"These are the only clothes I have and a pair of pajamas if you want to count those."

"Fine, I supposed I could grab a few things that won't be missed from the studio." Angel Dust gave her a once over with a measuring look. "You're a little on the short side, though."

Save for imps and Arackniss, Liz noticed that demons were very tall. Angel Dust was a good head and shoulders taller than her six-foot-plus father and towered over her by at least two feet. "Just whatever you can find will work."

"Sure," Angel Dust adjusted his bowtie and fluffed up his chest puff. "Weeps, take the next right towards the Fifth Red Light district. I gotta pull in some cash for my boss, or I'm gonna catch shit for it later."

***

After dropping Angel Dust off, it was a silent trip back to the apartment. Lizzie stared out the window at Hell's nightlife, which was as active at night as it was in the day. Marty wished she would lay back down, fearful that demons would see her through the window and recognize her as a human.

What the fuck was he thinking letting her come with him this morning? Arackniss was right, damn the little shit, a human in Hell was not safe. 

From his understanding, it's been centuries since humans have come to Hell without dying first. The last human to have toured Hell was Dante, who wrote a book about the ordeal. Not only was it dangerous for humans because they weren't as durable as demons when it came to injury and damage, but Hell itself was a lethal, chaotic place. Murders, violence, wars, and other atrocities happen every day, and no one bats an eye at it. He doubted anyone would make a big fuss about a cannibal setting up shop in the mill and sending robots out to hunt people—just another day in Hell. 

He parked in front of a store. "I'm going to do some quick grocery shopping. Do you want anything?"

She gave him a strange look and chewed her lower lip. "This is weird."

"What? Why?"

"Well . . .I mean, we survived a murder mill and fought off a horde of robots with chain saws for arms," She said, rubbing her arms. "It feels surreal that you're about to do some grocery shopping. I'm still . . .shaken, I guess."

"You're probably just hungry. We haven't eaten anything since this morning, remember?"

"Yeah, maybe that's it," she sighed. "Can you get some bread and maybe eggs?"

"Sure, I'll see what they got." He started to get out of the car. "I'll make sure it's not people."

Was he joking or not? Liz couldn't tell.

While he was gone, she toyed with the hellphone, impressed that it still had a decent amount of power without being charged for so long. She pulled up the number pad and considered dialing Margo's number to see if the signal could reach Earth. It was doubtful, but it was a nice thought. 

In her head, the conversation would go like this.

**Liz** : Hey, Margo.

**Margo** : Holy shit, Liz! Where are you!? The cops are all over your apartment, and they're looking for your body! The whole office thinks you've been murdered!"

**Liz** : No, no, I'm safe. There was some trouble, but I'm safe now with my father. 

**Margo** : I thought your father wasn't in of your life.

**Liz** : Yeah . . .well, I found out he’s been dead for years and I'm hanging out with him in Hell, trying to find out who paid imps to off me. 

She swiped away the number pad and noticed a saved file on the screen. It was the video she had downloaded before entering the mill. Maybe watching it will take her mind off things. By the time Marty returned, she had watched the video three times and was in the middle of the fourth viewing when he opened the back seat and shoved several bags into the back seat. 

He paused when he heard the familiar song. "Are you watching that stupid interview?"

"Yeah," Liz said, pausing the video as the Princess of Hell sang about puppy dog kisses and cotton candy dreams. "Did you know that Angel Dust checked into the Happy Hotel?"

Marty shut the backdoor and got into the driver's seat. "It's just a free room and board to him." 

"If I had known, I would have asked him about it," Liz closed out the video and pocketed the phone. 

"And you would have gotten sex jokes and snide remarks," Marty started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. "And isn't it enough that he's getting you clothes from a porn studio."

"What?" 

"Yeah, that's right," Marty said, taking pleasure in her surprised expression. "Angel Dust isn't only a streetwalker. He's also a porn star and dancer at the Leather and Lace strip club."

“Soooo . . .when he said studio . . .?”

"He means the Porn Studio," Marty said, almost smugly. "You might have seen some of the videos they produced yesterday." 

"Oh god," she moaned. "I thought he was going to give me some of his old clothes. What is he going to bring tomorrow!?" 


	12. Arc 3: Finding Rathel - Freebie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz and Marty spend a day together as father and daughter. A tv and radio have a spat. Angel Dust beings Liz clothes and other activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning about an adult sexual situation at the end of this chapter. Nothing explicit, but still considered triggering. 
> 
> Also, links below to Youtube videos and Spotify during a certain scene.

"We should talk." 

That was an understatement. 

The first thing Marty did after shoving groceries into the fridge was collapse onto the couch and rest his aching body. When Lizzie said they needed to talk, he opened an eye, gave a tired sigh, and sat up much to the pangs of his still healing injuries. Lizzie down beside him, dropping her weight onto the couch, a clear sign that she was as fatigued as him. 

Without thought or hesitation, he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a congenial squeeze. "Can this wait until morning?"

"I rather talk about it now," she sighed. "It wasn't him?"

"No, Brain Hartly is not the one," Marty drew a breath and sighed himself. 

"Damn, I was hoping that this would be over by now . . ."

"Me too, sweetheart, me too," Marty replied. 

“So . . .what now?”

"We rest and wait. Arackniss said he'll get his contacts on the other two names, and Shard still got his contacts working on it. One of them should come through for us."

"I . . .I need to go home."

"You can't go home yet, baby, I'm sorry." 

"I have so much work . . ."

"No, it can wait until this shit is over."

"No, it can't. I got so many people relying on me." She looked at him, exhaustion and worry etched on her face. 

"Look at it this way. You're not going to do them any good if those imps kill you. It's only been one day. Things aren't going to fall apart so quickly."

Giving him a weary smile, she nodded, "I suppose Margo can hold down the fort for a few more days without me."

It was such a natural act that he didn't realize he did it until after the fact. He kissed her temple and drew her against him for a one armed hug. It wasn't so much the act that surprised him, but that she allowed it. She leaned against him, closing her eyes, and pressed her head to his shoulder. 

"I'm sorry you got hurt, Dad."

"Honey, it's nothing . . ."

"I know you're a demon that can regenerate, but I bet it still hurt." She gave him a worried look. "You're going to be alright, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sore, but I'll be right as rain in the morning. Just need to eat and rest."

"I can cook us something."

"I bought several noodle cups. Just add water and heat."

"I think I can handle that."

The noodles didn't taste as good as Oni's Noodles, but they were cheap and quick to prepare. Maybe tomorrow they could have something more substantial, but it was enough to sate their hunger for now. 

Several times, Marty almost tore into her for leaving the car but didn't want to ruin the peaceful atmosphere. Lizzie was stubborn like her mother and would rebuff any attempts to make her see reason. It frustrated him that she didn't seem to understand how dangerous Hell was for her. And that's without being recognized as a human.

Human flesh was a delicacy for cannibals. If word got out . . . he couldn't keep her safe if that happened. They would tear this building apart to take her, and he wasn't powerful enough to fight them off. At least, he could keep her hidden here.

"Dad," she said. She was toying with her noodles, twisting them around her fork until they formed a tight coil around the prongs. "If I ask you a question, will you give me an honest answer? No sparing any feelings, alright?"

"Uh, sure, honey, what do you want to know?" He expected the question to be about what had happened at the mill or the ride home. He was partly right.

"Did you leave Mom and me because you're gay?"

He nearly choked on his noodles. After swallowing several gulps of water to clear his throat. "What!? Why do you think I'm gay!?"

"Because you were looking at Angel like you were in the Sahara desert, and he's a tall glass of iced lemonade. And I didn't fail to notice you were looking for a place to park so you could have a quickie." She set down her noodle cup and gave him a sympathetic look. "There's nothing wrong with being gay, but know back when I was kid, homosexuality was almost taboo. You and Mom came from a conservative hometown, so I figured you married mom to prove you're not gay, but like you said earlier, it didn't work out, so you left to be yourself . . ."

"I'm not gay," he said, voice still strained and choked. "I like women too . . .Your mother was a hot piece of - she was hot back then. Angel Dust . . .have you seen him? Who wouldn't want a piece of that?"

"Well . . .I didn't want to say anything . . ." Lizzie said, looking away with a blush. "I was kinda weirded out by how attracted I was to him. I mean . . .he's a seven foot tall pink furry spider demon with four arms. Have you touched his chest puff?"

"I have . . .it's like a pillow with fluffy fur." 

"It reminded me of an angora rabbit—the ones with that poofy wooly fur. I just . . .wanted to sink my fingers into it."

"Oh, you should sink your face into it . . .it's like . . .” He noticed his growing erection and realized he was fantasizing about the same spider as his daughter was, and that sobered him up. Clearing his throat, he gave himself a mental head shake. "Anyway, my sexuality has nothing to do with why things ended between your mother and me. I didn't know I was bisexual until I dropped down here. Hell is . . .well, it gives you many opportunities to explore your sexuality."

Talking about Shard could wait another day or two. And he certainly want going to discuss his sex history with his daughter. 

"I did some exploring in college," Lizzie admitted. "I dated a girl for a couple of months."

"You did? Was . . .was she nice?"

"She was very nice, and I liked her a great deal, but . . .I just - just couldn't get into it. I liked her more as a friend than I did as a partner."

"Maybe she wasn't the right female partner?" 

“Maybe . . .” Lizzie shrugged. "But I always had my eye out for guys. Though I tend to disappoint them because I put my job beforemy relationships."

"Hey, don't worry about them. They weren't good enough."

"C'mon, you've never met them."

"I'm your father. No one is good enough for my daughter."

A playful light crossed her eyes. "Not even Angel Dust?"

"Angel Dust is gay. Very, very gay." Then Marty began to shamelessly lie. "Sorry not sorry to disappoint you, but he won't touch women with a ten foot pole. He thinks they're gross."

"Sure, Dad, whatever you say." Lizzie rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"I'm serious. Somebody said they bought a bouquet of flowers with pussy willows, and he gagged."

"No, he didn't!" Lizzie giggled. "Oh, you are being such a dad!" 

***

The armoire was still open, and Lizzie stared at the myriad of peeks into her life. When she first looked at it, it had the semblance of a stalker's altar to a fixation. Now she realized it was precious glimpses into her life immortalized into windows of a world he couldn't touch. How different would her life have been if he had been part of it?

For one thing, she wouldn't have spent her childhood with a bitch of a grandmother and the shithole of a small town full of hypocritical church mongers. She wouldn't have dealt with mom's cancer alone. He would have been there for her… and Mom. 

What did he look like back when he was alive? She couldn't remember his face . . .maybe except that he had dark hair. Her mother's hair had been caramel brown, so she must have inherited her dark hair from Dad. 

"I guess I also inherited his taste in men too," she said to herself.

God, this was too strange. It shouldn't feel natural to have bonded with her father turned demon over a cup of ramen noodles. To think, two days ago, her biggest concern was keeping Olivia and her children safe from Mr. Edgard. Now it was staying alive in Hell against demons and killer robots. 

"One name down . . ." she muttered to herself as she laid down and pulled the blankets over her. 

Agnes Fuller and Tim Rathel . . .who was next? 

***

That morning, she tried her hand at cooking bacon and eggs. She was no chef, but she knew her way around a kitchen. One thing she noticed was that it took oddly longer for the meat and eggs to get hot enough to begin sizzling in the pan, and the grease kept popping and hitting every time as if aiming for bare skin. Marty offered to cook since he was more familiar with Hell's foods, but she was determined to do something familiar.

"No worries. Just watch tv, and I'll be done with this soon," she called back from the kitchen. 

With no clean clothes, she had to wear one of Marty's shirts, which hung almost to her knees, and beneath that was a pair of boxers. She had to occasionally check to make sure they don't slide down her legs like oversized shorts. She hoped Angel Dust would come through with those clothes, but there was no telling what he was bringing if they were from a porn studio's wardrobe.

String bikinis? Foot tall pleaser shoes? Short shorts? God forbid, he brought a cheerleader or schoolgirl uniform. 

There was a radio on the kitchen counter she switched on for some music. She kept it turned down so it would disturb her father watching television. Surprisingly, instead of the death metal, she imagined would be blaring across Hell's radios, instead was the smooth voice of Bing Cosby accompanied by horns asking a sweetheart to [Don't Be That Way.](https://open.spotify.com/track/1MLcgNAkPUDbtlhUAUVNbe?si=Krl-xqejRTm1uehpk4oykA)

She wasn't a music aficionado but did appreciate a distraction. However, it was short lived as the television suddenly went up in volume. Thinking her father was disturbed by the radio, after all, she reached for the radio to switch it off and paused when she heard the voice erupt from the television.

"So sorry to interrupt your morning programming, but I have a nice surprise for you viewers." The man speaking had a showmanship voice that reminded of those game show hosts, however it lacked the paternal affection.

Liz stepped into the living room to see the screen occupied with a television head demon with bright eyes and a malicious grin taking up most of the screen. A glance at Marty told her he was unconcerned as he leaned back on the couch with his feet propped on the low table. 

"I have a familiar number from the 80s you might recognize. Enjoy!"

The face disappeared as if flicked off, and the Buggles performed their music video [_Video Killed the Radio Star_](https://youtu.be/W8r-tXRLazs). The little girl in red overalls playing with the radio seemed as confused as she felt. 

_Video killed the radio star_

_Video killed the radio star_

"Oh God," Marty moaned. "Here they go again."

"What's going on?" Lizzie glanced between the television and Marty, wondering if this is something they should be concerned about.

"Just wait," Marty sighed, pointing at the kitchen. "You'll see soon enough."

As if waiting for Marty's signal, the radio blared to life. The volume dial twisting to the max on its own as static eroded Bing Cosby's serenade. When the static cleared, the new song playing a max volume was _[Small Fry](https://open.spotify.com/track/3oxHu5tiDtOeGjiTK2dHS3?si=YCA7pQCYRs6ZEXZiP8lpxA) _. 

_Small fry, struttin by the pool room_

_Small fry, should be in the school room_

_My, my put down that cigarette_

_You ain't grown up high and mighty yet_

"What's happening?" Lizzie demanded, having to shout over Bing Crosby's singing.

"Don't worry! It won't last long," Marty yelled. 

The tv cut the Buggles' feed and switched to another video of Nicolas Petricca dancing with a red hair woman while singing [_Shut Up and Dance with Me_.](https://youtu.be/6JCLY0Rlx6Q)

_Oh don't you dare look back_

_Just keep your eyes on me_

_I said you're holding back_

_She said shut up and dance with me_

It wasn't long before the radio had a response. The masculine singer was taken over by static and then replaced by the [Andrew Sisters](https://open.spotify.com/track/2MPnqX8NesacxELHh54cgw?si=kRY1HsSBRPepyH0Op72w-Q).

_Shoo, shoo, shoo baby_

_Shoo, shoo, shoo baby_

_Bye, bye, bye baby_

_Do-dah do-day_

_Your papa's off to the seven seas_

Again, the tv responded—a black and white clip of [Nina Simone](https://youtu.be/r57J0jPyZRs) playing the piano while singing mournfully.

_Oh, sinnerman, where you gonna run to?_

_Sinnerman where you gonna run to?_

_Where you gonna run to?_

_All on that day_

It escalated, switching faster and faster between songs. There were songs Liz didn't recognize or change too quickly before she had a chance to listen. Then it ended with a silent hum after both tv and radio clicked off. Whatever it was, it was thankfully over.

“Did . . .did the tv and the radio . . .just have a feud?”

Marty, undisturbed by the whole event, scratched the back of his head and shrugged. "Yeah, they do that sometimes. They're either out there fighting or fucking it out."

"The . . .the tv and the radio?" Liz looked between the television set and the kitchen radio in the off chance they were engaged in violence or sex. She had seen killer robots, demons, and other weird shit since she came to Hell, so it would be no surprise if inanimate objects came to life now.

Reading her expression, he shook his head and set his beer on the low table. "No, I mean the TV Demon and Radio Demon are at each other again. Rumor has it that Vox has a thing for Alastor, so he pulls this shit to get a rise out of 'im. Kinda like a kid pulling a girl's pigtails."

"That's kinda cute . . ." Liz said, returning to the stove.

"Oh, you won't think it's cute if you see the aftermath of one of their fights," Marty called after her. 

***

Late afternoon, there was a knock on the door, followed by several impatient kicks before Marty could open the door. 

"Ya gonna keep me waitin' all day? I got places to be after this." Angel Dust came inside, brushing against Marty as he went. Three of his arms hoisted several plastic shopping bags. "Where's dollie? Whatever she can't wear, I gotta get back to the studio before they notice its gone."

When he spotted Lizzie sitting on the couch wearing only boxers and an oversized shirt, he said, "No. Just . . .just no. C'mon, let's go."

He ushered her into the bedroom despite her protests while Marty was still reeling from inhaling Angel Dust's sweet musk and experiencing the chest puff brush against his arm. And before he could register any sexual envy or paternal concern about his daughter trying on clothes alone with a porn star, his phone chimed with a text message.

**Arackniss** : Got lead on Rathel. Frequents Midnight Song Club. Be careful. He's dangerous.

The Midnight Song? Wasn't it that fancy cabaret club in the uptown part of the Pentagram? A quick search on his phone provided him address and business hours. However, it was one of those ritzy exclusive places with a bouncer at the door. This wasn't a place you went into wearing jeans and a t-shirt or carrying an empty wallet.

Marty supposed he could do surveillance outside of the club. It wouldn't be the first time he had spent the night in the car waiting for a mark to leave a building. However, usually, he had Shard as backup. 

Yesterday, he had regretted not bringing Shard along with him to the mill, and it had almost gotten Lizzie killed. At least the danger was apparent compared to the mill. He had no fucking clue what he was walking into back there, but he was more familiar with this. After a moment of thought, he called Shard, but it went to voicemail. Might as well leave a message. 

"Shard, hey, it's Marty. I'm gonna need some help tonight. Call me back."

***

Dad was right about Angel Dust. He was gay and had absolutely no interest in her sexually. When he looked at her, it was an assessment a gardener would have for a flower or a carpenter for lumber. In fact, he was more interested in a fashion magazine he brought along when she changed in front of him. 

"I like these." She admired the pair of comfortable white pants that showed off her legs. Then she noticed the hole between the beltline and her ass. "Oh no, it has a tear. . ."

"It's a hole for a tail," Angel Dust muttered, barely glancing at her as he turned a page. He was lying across the bed on his stomach with the magazine open to a spread of a demoness showing off lingerie. "Just wear the blue sweater and it'll cover it up."

Among the selection was underwear, which she was glad to have. It was clean and decent and, best of all, was comfortable fit. Lizzie went through the clothing fast, able to build herself a modicum of a wardrobe. However, shoes was a problem. 

"Angel . . .I appreciate the clothes, but the shoes . . ."

"What's wrong with 'em?" Angel Dust raised his head from the magazine with a telltale white bit of powder around his nose.

She decided to ignore the powder and focus on the problem at hand. "I'm going to break my ankles in these."

They were all stilettos of five inches or more. The stilettos were open toe, straps, and platform heels, none of which she was confident that she could walk across the room without falling on her face. While Liz did wear heels in the office, she preferred her ankles closer to the ground when she did.

"You need the height, shorty," Angel Dust replied. 

Well, she supposed she could keep wearing Marty's shoes until she got a pair she could wear. As she undressed, she asked, "How long have you known my Dad?"

Angel Dust took a moment to think about it. "Several years. Nice guy. A bit vanilla, but never tried to get more than he paid for."

"Was a regular? He stopped coming to you?"

Angel Dust shrugged all four shoulders. "Clients come and go all the time. Not my business why they choose to stop coming to me. So long as I got another client lined up to take their place, Val's good with it."

She had seen how Marty had looked at Angel Dust and obviously still lusted for the pink spider demon. So why did he stop being Angel Dust's client? Could he not afford Angel Dust's rates anymore?

"Cute swan," Angel Dust said, looking at her bare right shoulder. 

In black ink, on the back of her shoulder, was a tribal tattoo of a swan done in arches with sharp points for wings and bill and an S-shaped neck. She touched her shoulder in memory. "I had to get it for losing a game of cards."

"Damn, what woulda happened if you won?" Angel Dust bent his head down for another line of coke he had patted into lines on the magazine. 

Liz sat down on the bed next to Angel Dust's legs. "There was this gifted kid who had a terrible home. His mother was always high or drunk and the step-father was a piece of shit. I got the kid and his sister out of there and into a safer home, but he refused to go back to school. I made a deal with him. We play a hand of poker, and if I won, he would go back to school. If he won, he could choose a tattoo for me. Well, I lost, but he let me off easy with a swan. I was scared he was going to make me get a swastika or a dick."

Angel Dust's mouth opened wide as he laughed. "There was this guy who had a dick tattooed on his face. The head was at the corner of his mouth like he's about to go down on the dick!" 

"Why . . .why did he have a dick tattooed on his face?" 

"He tried to short change one of Val's favorite girls over a blow job," Angel Dust grinned, golden tooth gleaming at her. "Val found out about it." 

"Who's Val?" 

"Oh, forgot ya haven't been in Hell long enough to hear about 'im," Angel Dust rubbed his nose and snorted a few times. "My boss, Valentino, is the pimp kingpin in Pentagram City. He takes care of his girls and fellas, makes sure no one cheats us . . .or him."

"So he tattooed a dick on that guy's face," Liz asked, folding her legs beneath her as she took an interest in Angel Dust's story. He was giving her his attention, no longer disengaged with the magazine, and she noticed that she was sitting beside him shirtless wearing a black bra that seemed to cup her breasts from the bottom as if putting them on display. 

"Oh, doll, he did more than that," Angel Dust said, crossing his upper arms and laying his cheek on them, peeking at her with one pink eye. "Val put him in one of the late night films."

"What kind of films are those?" Dread and desire coiled through her. It was like being pulled along with a warm tide, and she was letting it carry her closer to a forbidden flame. 

"Snuff films. Not sure exactly what Val put the guy through, but I know it involved a lot of dick." Fingers thread through thick fur, warm and alive, and so very soft. She didn't realize she was groping Angel Dust's thigh until he delicately removed it by the wrist. "Do you have a hundred bucks, doll?"

"N-no," she replied, shocked at herself. 

"Sorry, babe, but Val might have somethin' t' say if I let myself get groped for free."

"Sorry." What the hell was wrong with her? How long has it been since she had sex that she was desperate enough to grope a pink spider demon? Thinking about it now, she realized it's been almost a year since the firefighter from New Jersey. He had nice arms and could out fill a pair of jeans like no one's business.

Angel Dust didn’t appear to be offended. He sat up on his knees, eyes assessing her, and let go of her wrist. Leering, he leaned forward slightly, his greater height encapsulating her in his shadow. "We can do a freebie."

"What's. . .what's a freebie?" Why was it getting hard to breath in here? Her blood was surging to her skin's surface, making her feel hot, with pools of pink spreading across her cheeks and chest. 

"I watch you masturbate and talk dirty t' ya." 

It was hard to swallow. A part of her wanted to laugh and say no, but the laugh never came. Another part was offended by the crude offer, but another larger part wondered if the door was locked. 

"That's all?" 

"It's called a freebie for a reason, sweetheart," Angel Dust replied, inclining his head. "I usually charge twenty-five bucks for no contact fun, but I'll tell ya what, since I like ya and you're cute, I'll give ya kiss in the end."

She looked at the door. Marty was outside . . .but that's what made this all the more tempting. The thrill of being caught was intoxicating.

"It's locked," Angel Dust said, reading her eyes.

"And you won't tell?"

Angel Dust held up two fingers like a scout salute. "Hooker and Client Confidentiality guaranteed."

Was that a real thing or was he teasing her? It didn’t matter now. This was happening. 

Reaching behind her, she undid the bra and shrugged it down her shoulders. "Don't call me names. I mean, sweetheart, babe, and doll are okay, but please don't call me bitch or slut."

"No probs," Angel Dust replied. "What about sugartits?"

"No, not sugartits, either."

"Fair enough. Where do you want me to watch?"

She was undoing the pants and paused. "Where do . . .where do clients usually have you watch?"

Shrugging, he said, "Sometimes sitting in a chair by the bed, at the foot of the bed, or lying beside them."

"Lying beside me."

Angel Dust stretched out on one side of the bed, long legs curled and one hand lightly stroking his chest while the other patted the bed beside him. "Sure, but remember no touching."

She pushed her pants and underwear down and stepped out of them. Biting her lip almost hard enough to bleed, she laid down beside him. There was at least a foot of space between them, but with his eyes on her, it might as well be skin to fur contact. 

"Fuck," she whispered, covering her hands with both hands. "This is . . .this is too much."

"If you don't want to . . ."

"No, I want to. I need a minute."

"Want me to wait until you start before I start with the dirty talk?"

"No . . . go ahead. I think it'll help."

"Sure, you horny little doll. Go ahead and open those legs and show me how much you want me."

***

"You did good, babe.”

As he promised, he kissed her shortly after she climaxed. She barely noticed it over the euphoria of a well earned orgasm but took this chance to sink her fingers into his chest puff beneath his bow tie. It was just like petting an angora rabbit.


	13. Arc 3: Finding Rathel - Plans are Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are being made to go after the second name on the list.

What was taking so long? 

Marty supposed it was natural for women to take a long time trying on clothes, but an hour? How long does it really take to choose outfits? He considered knocking on the door but told himself to give it a while longer.

He went to the fridge for a beer to settle his nerves. After popping off the cap, he almost drained half the bottle by the time he returned to the couch. Despite himself, his eyes went to the door, and the urge to knock returned. It's just checking on them—nothing else.

The knock startled him so much he almost dropped the beer bottle and banged his shin on the coffee table. Had he somehow knocked on the door with his mind? Did he have a new undiscovered power? 

"Marty, open up. It's me, Shard."

Oh, it was coming from the apartment door. After picking up the beer bottle and grimacing at the mess on the floor, he opened the door for Shard. "Hey, pal, whatcha doin' here?"

Even though he was standing in the doorway, Shard brushed past him inside. "Tony Shark's got a job for us."

"Wait, I thought I had a few days . . ."

"You already used two of 'em, and this is important," Shard said, already making himself at home and grabbing a beer from the fridge. "Where's your daughter?"

"She's. . .she in the bedroom," Marty said, a sudden bead of sweat appearing on his brow. His ears twitched, and he forced them to be still. Shard knew him well enough to recognize his emotional body signs. 

"Asleep? At this time of day?"

Before Marty could have a chance to think of something to say, the bedroom door opened, and Angel Dust sauntered out. He was adjusting his bowtie with two hands while the other two were hefting up his chest puff before he noticed them staring. Marty had a brow cocked while Shard starred in open mouth astonishment. 

"You got your daughter a hooker?" Shard said, admiration apparent in how he gazed between Angel Dust and Marty.

"No!" Marty yelped.

"Ah, no, no, no, big boy," Angel Dust said, giving them both a leer. "We didn't fuck. Just brought along a few outfits for her t' try on."

There was an awkward silence that Marty was eager to fill. "Angel, do you want a beer? I can make coffee if you prefer."

Angel Dust scratched his nose and considered it. "Yeah, I'll take a beer. Not my usual, but I ain't turnin' down a freebie."

As Marty fetched the pink spider a beer, he thought about how he was going to keep Shard from finding out the truth about Lizzie. Was it possible to send a signal to Angel Dust to go back into the room and tell her not to come out? How long did he have before she came out on her own? Maybe she would stay there long enough for Shard to conclude whatever business he had to come here for. 

"I got your message earlier about you needing some help with something?" Shard called after him. "Sorry, but you know that work for Tony comes first."

"Yeah, I know. So what does Tony need?"

"It has to do with your daughter."

The beer shattered at Marty's feet. The glass sloshed against his shoes as the brown beer spread across the floor. His feet crushed the glass as he crossed from the kitchen to stand over Shard, teeth inches from his partner's nose. 

"What the fuck does Tony want with her?"

"Whoa, whoa, partner, whoa, I just came to talk to her," Shard said, holding up his hands. He had never seen Marty take such a sudden turn in attitude before. "It's about one of her friends, the ones you asked me to find. Tim Rathel."

"What . . .Tim Rathel?"

"Yeah, he's some up and coming gang leader that has his sights on Twilight Square," Shard replied, taking some measure of relief when Marty backed down. "And that's too close to Tony Shark's territory for his comfort. So he wants you and me to nose around his territory. See what we can find out about him."

"He . . .he goes to a place called the Midnight Song," Marty said, recalling Arackniss message.

"That fancy place on Starlit Avenue? Fuck, that's a good lead. How did you suss that out?"

"I got . . .I got other contacts looking, but I had no idea Rathel was encroaching on Tony's turf."

"Since your daughter knew him in life, then maybe she might know something else about him?" 

"She hadn't seen him in years." Marty decided to share enough to tell Shard that Lizzie was a dead end. "He killed himself after she caught him embezzling money from a charity."

Shard raised an eyebrow. "You said they were old friends."

Fuck. He wasn't smart enough to pull off a lie; he was better at punching things and going invisible than playing mind games. "It's complicated. She can't help you."

"Help with that?'

"Fuck," Marty said, feeling like all of Hell was trying to drive him insane. 

Lizzie had come out of the bedroom wearing tight shorts, a halter top, and looking like the goddamn human that she was. Shard stared at her for a few moments then directed a hot look at Marty. "You forgot to mention a few details, partner."

"Fuck."

"Hey, uh, Weeps, still waiting on the beer," Angel Dust called from where he was sitting on a chair's arm, preening his hair. 

***

"Jesus Christ, Marty . . .Fuck, man," Shard moaned after a twenty minute explanation later. "You went through all that without tellin' me?"

"I was tryin' to keep you out of it," Marty sighed, feeling tired and annoyed. "So you can't tell anyone . . ."

"You told the hooker and his brother before telling your own partner!?" Shard muttered, outright offended. 

"Did you not hear the part where we ran into each other in a murder mill!?" Marty now knew what it was like to argue with a wall. It was getting nowhere, and Shard was focusing on the wrong aspect of the whole thing. 

"After the shit I went through to cover for you with Tony, you don't tell me about this shit!?"

"Dammit, she's my daughter! I was protectin' her and you by keepin' quiet about it. "

"Well, since she's your daughter, she won't mind helpin' you pay your dues to Tony."

"What? What the fuck does that mean?" 

Shard turned away and went out the bedroom door, swinging his arm out of Marty's grasp. Cursing, Marty went after him, trying to grab him and demand answers before it involved Lizzie.

She was sitting on the couch next to Angel Dust, who had finally gotten his beer. An old imp sitcom was playing where the youngest child wondered how he was going to dismember his teacher's body before the parent/teacher meeting.

"As violent as this show is, it's more interesting than the kid wondering how he's going to win a spelling bee contest." Lizzie took a sip of beer and winced. It was a bit stronger than she liked but still good.

"Eh," Angel Dust shrugged. "I saw this one four times. They find the parts in the closet, and the kid gets grounded." 

They both looked up as Shard exited the bedroom where Marty had taken him to speak privately and stood before them like a bear discovering two intrepid thieves in his honey pot. Angel Dust cocked an eyebrow expectantly while Lizzie took on a more guarded grip on her beer bottle as if she might need it as a weapon. 

"How would you two like to visit the Midnight Song?"

A wicked grin spread across Angel Dust's face. "What's in it for me?"

"Other than going to a high class club?" Shard rejoined.

"Don't fuck with me, pal," Angel Dust replied, leaning against the couch with his upper arms folded behind his head. "Tell me whatcha want from me, and I'll give ya a price."

"Whoa, whoa, wait, what's the Midnight Song?" Lizzie asked, setting her beer on the coffee table and leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. 

"Shard," Marty growled in warning.

Disregarding Marty's trepidation, Shard looked directly at Lizzie. "It's where your old 'friend' Rathel hangs out."

"Holy shit," Lizzie’s eyes widened as she looked between Shard and Marty. "Are you sure?"

"Sources say it's true, but you can confirm it for us." 

"Wait a fucking minute," Marty snarled, wrenching Shard around by the shoulder. "She is not going anywhere near Rathel! He may be the one that's trying to have her killed."

"All the more reason to get this guy," Shard said, unphased by his partner’s fury. "She's familiar with Rathel."

"She won't recognize him anymore." Marty opened and closed his talons as if he could strangle Shard. 

"But he might recognize her." 

Galvanized, Marty seized Shard by the front of his shirt and slammed against the wall with his nose inches from Shard's. "You sonuvbitch! You want to use her as bait!"

Lizzie was on her feet and tugging on his arm. "Dad! Stop it!" 

"Calm down!" Shard hollered just as angry despite being the one pinned with an arm across his chest. "You still have to pay your due to Tony for that shit you pulled the other day. And you're after him anyway. Two birds, one stone, idiot!"

Marty ignored Lizzie's incessant pulling on his arm. "I'm not doing that by painting a fucking target on her back!"

"Dad, let's hear him out! It's not a bad idea."

It was Lizzie's turn to be on the receiving end of Marty's hot glare. "Are you out of your goddamn mind!?"

"I don't know exactly what's going on," she said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "But unless you have a better idea on how to get Rathel, then we should at least hear his plan before putting him through a wall."

He noticed Angel Dust kicked back over her head, watching the show with the beer tilted back to his mouth. "You're not gonna say anythin'?"

"Hey, Weeps, I'm just waitin' t' hear about gettin' paid for a service. If there's no money, then I'm walkin'." Angel Dust put the beer on the coffee table and began to rise, dismissing them all.

"No, no, no, wait . . .wait . . .Marty, get the fuck off me." Shard's teeth flashed, Hear what I gotta say, and if you still wanna kick my ass afterward, we'll settle it outside."

Marty drew a short breath, but released Shard and stepped back. "It better be a good plan."

To his credit, Shard didn't look ruffled by the manhandling in the least. He adjusted his shirt and made sure his cigarette packet was still tucked up his sleeve and retrieved them. "Don't take this the wrong way, Marty. You and I are a couple of good lookin' guys, but we ain't rich enough for their blood in the Midnight Song. While they’ll tell us to make like a tree and leave, they ain't gonna turn away a couple of gorgeous broads."

Marty's hackles were raised at having his daughter referred to as a ‘broad’. As if sensing his rising anger, Lizzie put a hand on his arm and squeezed to keep him from lunging for Shard again. "Okay, we go in, and then what? Listen out for Rathel's name? Try to find out where he is?"

"That, and also lure him out," Shard explained, looking between Lizzie and Angel Dust. "Whoever asks, tell them your name and you were murdered a few days ago. Drop your name here and there, and maybe, if Rathel is the asshole who hired I.M.P., he might come out to gloat."

"That's actually not a bad idea," Lizzie said, becoming invested. "But, won't they notice I'm not a demon?"

"There are a lot of demon dames who still look semi-human," Shard admitted. "You might have to wear a mask or makeup as cover, but you have that clean look of someone who hasn't been in Hell long, so they'll chalk any weirdness about you to that."

Angel Dust shrugged, joining the planning session with a nonchalant shrug. "Go down t' tha knock off drug store and buy some body makeup. They have different colors for all skin types. Put her in somethin' blue or gray, and she's good t' go."

"We could spin it that Angel Dust was hired to show me a good time on my first night out in Hell," Lizzie added. 

Shard snaps his fingers and points at Lizzie with something akin to intrigue. "Exactly. Since Angel Dust is one of Valentino's hoes on a job, they can't start shit without bringing his wrath down on them."

Angel Dust nodded slowly, "Yeah, nothing pisses Val off more than someone messin' with his money."

"Shit, I think we got something pretty solid here," Lizzie said, rubbing her hands together in either nervous fidgeting or glee at what sounds like a good plan. "What do you think, Dad?"

"What do I think?" Marty said from where he was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and barely containing his boiling fury. "I think you're planning your own death."

"Dad!" Lizzie said, standing up fast enough to bump the coffee table and nearly upsetting the beer bottles. "It's a good plan, and it's not my first time going undercover into a bar to get some dirt."

"What!? What the fuck are you talking about?" Marty said, dropping his arms to stare at her. 

"I've done this before," Lizzie said, coming around the low table towards him. "I've gone into bars and clubs to catch deadbeat fathers spending hundreds of dollars on alcohol and hookers when they should be paying child support. I've even taken pictures of cheaters in the act to give their abused spouses a leg up in divorce proceedings. I know how to keep a low profile while getting information."

"You’re going to be in there alone . . ." Marty said, refusing to cave. He touched her arms, and it panged him at how thin and fragile her bones felt in his talons. 

"Angel Dust is going to be in there with me. I'll be under the umbrella of this Valentino's protection. And I'm sure you and Shard will be outside. If something happens, you're a text away."

"Heyo," Angel Dust said, now standing with his lower arms propped on his hips and his upper arms crossed beneath his chest puff. "I gotta get paid first. Half up front, and I can tell Val I'm booked for the night."

"How much?" Shard asked, tapping out a cigarette from the pack he had been holding during the planning session.

Angel Dust gave them a price. 

Shard dropped the cigarette while Marty stared nonplussed at the pink spider. "Is that total?"

"Nope, the first half," Angel Dust replied and began counting off on his fingers. "Firstly, she's a lady, and I charge extra for ladies."

"You said I was cute," Lizzie said, crestfallen.

"Honey, I think little pigs, puppies, kittens, and babies are cute, but I don't wanna fuck 'em," Angel Dust replied and continued counting off on his fingers. "And I'm takin' her out to a fancy club to be followed up with a round of fuckin'."

"Oh, really?" Lizzie asked, deeply intrigued by the thought.

"No, no sex," Marty was quick to cut in with fatherly protectiveness.

"Sorry, gotta charge for sex, whether it happens or not," Angel Dust crossed both sets of arms and looked between Marty and Shard with a pointed look. "Who hires a hooker and not have sex with 'em in Hell?"

"He's got a point, Marty," Shard interjected, having retrieved the cigarette, he lit it and took a few drags. 

"Shut up," Marty snapped to which Shard's brows raised. "All we need you to do is get information . . ."

"While lookin' after your girl," Angel Dust jabbed a finger at Lizzie and shot them with an irritated glare. "Look, I prefer to do this than walkin' the streets tonight, but ya gotta make it worth my while, or Val is gonna be on my ass for not bringin' in tha' cash. You knew I'm a hooker from the start, so don't stand there lookin' at me like I broke ya heart or sumthin'."

Without Angel’s protection, then Lizzie would be going into a nightclub in Hell alone. As much as Marty hated the plan, he knew Shard was right. There was no way he could pass himself off as the clientele of a club such as the Midnight Club accepts. 

Shrugging, Marty sighed and stalked off into the bedroom. He returned a few minutes later with a thick wad of cash in hand. "Here's all of it upfront."

Shard took in a deep breath, eyes going wide at the sight of the cash. "Shit, Marty . . ."

Angel Dust grasped the cash, but Marty held onto it, looking directly into the taller pink spider's eyes. His blue eyes brimmed with potential violence and dire consequences. "You take this money, you agree to look after my daughter and keep her safe. If anything happens to her under your watch, I'm going to break you in half, and I'm not talking about sex."

"Dad!" Lizzie gasped. "Stop!" 

Even Shard was eyeing Marty with a raised eyebrow. He had never seen this side of his partner before. 

Marty ignored them and continued. "I will literally tear your top half from your bottom half and throw one end across Pentagram City and the other end in the opposite direction. And I don't give two fucks about what Valentino will do to me because my life's nothing if anything happens to Lizzie. Do you understand me?"

Instead of any fear or discomfort, Angel Dust laughed jovially and gave Marty a peck on the end of his snout. "Now you're starting to sound like my Pops. Don't worry. She'll be fine with me." 

He tugged the money from Marty's grasp, sifted the bills through his hands until he counted them all and nodded. "What time should I come by?"

"7:30 should be good," Shard answered, eager to end this meeting before things got out of hand again. 

"I'll be here." Angel Dust pocketed the money, took out his phone, and began thumbing a text message while his free hands grabbed the shopping bags of studio clothing as he headed for the door. "Have her dressed up and painted by tha time I arrive. Doin' hair and makeup costs extra."

When the door closed, Lizzie tore into Marty. Her eyes blazed with indignant fury and humiliation. "What the fuck, Dad!? You didn't have to talk to him like that!"

Her father gave her a tired look and drew her against him, folding his arms across her back and laying his cheek atop her head. Lizzie resisted, tried to push away, but he only embraced and held her close. "Shard, we need to be alone right now, okay?"

There was a look in his partner's eyes that he couldn't read. Taking a long drag and blowing out a stream of smoke, Shard said, "Sure, pal, whatever you need. I'll come back in a few hours."

He continued to hold her for a while after Shard left. Lizzie stopped struggling and slid her arms around his waist, returning the hug. With her cheek against his chest, she said, "I'll be alright."

"So much shit can go wrong . . ."

"I know, but it's the best plan." 

"If anything happens to you . . ."

"Was that . . . the money you gave Angel . . .that wasn't all your money, was it?"

"I can always get more."

"Aw, Dad, no . . .you shouldn't have . . ."

"Shard's right. You're right. I hate it with a passion, but it is the best plan we got. I've seen Angel in action, so I know you're safe with him."

"And I can look after myself too," Lizzie assured him, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "It's not like I'm going into a murder mill."

"Baby, this is Hell. You have no idea what can happen in a club in Hell."

  
  
  



	14. Arc 3: Finding Rathel - Midnight Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty and Shard hash somethings out. Liz and Angel go to a club and meet some unwanted visitors.
> 
> Commissioned Artwork by @bubbileii

Shard returned a few hours later with a makeup kit and body makeup as Angel Dust suggested. It was in a little tub of fine powder with a scantily clad demoness showing off pale blue skin with a speech bubble declaring the product gave her a deathly glow. Liz experimented with it by rubbing a pinch full across the back of her hand. It spread evenly over the surface, and a little went a long way. 

He also brought a black mask with valves for easier breathing. It hid the lower half of her face, leaving only her eyes exposed. "I thought demons couldn't get sick."

"We can't, but sometimes new arrivals find the air too harsh to breathe without a mask," Shard replied.

"Her eyes are still human," Marty complained. 

"Then she needs to put on a dress that will make 'em look at something else," Shard retorted and ignored the offended stares from Marty and Liz. 

Marty hovered over her like a helicopter parent over a sickly child for the rest of the evening. The only time he left her alone was to speak privately with Shard. Their deep voices carried from the living to the bedroom where she was choosing a dress. She didn't want to eavesdrop, but it was hard not to listen in on a conversation about her.

Her father's voice came across like rumbling thunder in the distance. "I know you gotta report to Tony Shark, but don't tell him Lizzie is a human. Leave that part out."

"Like you left that part out for me?" Shard's voice was smoother, like oil pouring from a metal drum. "After everything we have been through together, and you don't trust me?"

"I'm sorry for lying to you. Are you happy now?"

_ Jesus, it's like they're a married couple.  _ Liz sat on the edge of the bed, the dresses were forgotten as she listened intently. 

"No, I'm not happy . . .but I'll get over it. There's no putting shit back into a goose, so let's move on and get through tonight."

"Shard, I need to hear you say you aren't going to tell . . ."

"I'm not going to tell Tony Shark about her. We're partners, remember."

She drew a short breath at the way Shard had said partners that spoke volumes.  _ Well, here I thought Dad was living in Hell as a lonely bachelor.  _

***

"Again?"

"Yes, again. I want to hear you say the rules again."

"You do realize that I know how to stay safe in a club. I'm a single woman who's had a social life, and I've even led a lecture on safety in nightclubs and bars for women."

He was sitting on the bed while she changed in the bathroom. A half-empty bottle of beer, the last one, was cradled between his hands. He was tempted to take a sip but held off so he could focus. He was already getting buzzed. "One more time and I'll leave ya alone about it."

Sighing in resignation, Lizzie began counting off the Midnight Song rules. "Rule Number One: Do not leave Angel Dust's side. Stay with him at all times, and if I have to use the restroom, he comes with me and waits outside the door."

Nodding, Marty counted off. "Rule Number Two?"

"I keep my phone within reach and update you about anything that happens."

"I want to know when you get inside, when you sit down, and whoever talks to you. Just be one of those women who can't put their phone down."

"And Rule Number Three: I don't accept any drugs or drinks from anyone."

"Right. Almost done?"

"Yeah, in one sec. Applying eyeliner has always been a bitch for me."

This time he took a long pull from the bottle as he waited. It eased his anxiety, but only temporarily. His mind played over everything that could go wrong tonight, and all of it ending with Lizzie injured or dead. If she was hurt, what was he going to do? He was no doctor, and there was no hospital or medical care to be found in Hell.

"How do I look?"

The black dress complimented her figure, enhancing the slight hourglass feminine figure. Black stockings outlined shapely legs, which ended in dark stilettos. She held onto the doorjamb for balance as she took another stiff step forward. "I'm not used to wearing such high heels."

Her makeup was well done with dark eyeshadow that brought out the startling blue of her eyes, which was brighter than the powder coating her skin. It was a good thing the powder worked so well to cover her skin color as it completely hid the healing bruise on her cheek from where she fell. Her arms, chest, shoulders, neck, and face were all deep sky blue and made her dress's darkness stand out in contrast. 

His throat was tight as he stared at her, realizing that was the first time he had seen her dressed up and how he had missed watching her grow from girl to woman. She had been only two years old when he was part of her life. Since then, had she played dress-up with Alice's clothes pretending to be an adult? He had missed the chance to forbid her from leaving the house in too short pants or too low shirts on the grounds that she was too young. Now she was old enough to wear stilettos and a little black dress. 

He had been staring at her in stunned silence, his voice caught in his throat. Swallowing a few times, he managed to find his tongue. "You're the most beautiful thing in Hell, sweetheart."

***

It was still the best plan, and she wasn't going to argue against it, even though she was beginning to share in Marty's worries. As a woman in New York City, she knew how to keep herself safe in public, but being a human woman in Hell filled with Sinners and demons could be a different matter altogether.

She checked the blue body makeup to make sure none of her actual skin color was showing. It didn't wash off when she tested it by running water over her hands in the sink. With the container in her purse, she can do any touch ups as needed. 

Before Angel Dust and Shard arrived, Marty handed her a knifelike piece of metal. The blade was white and seemed to glow in the light. The handled end was twisted as if broken off from a larger part. 

"Don't show this to Angel or Shard," Marty told her, closing her hand around the handle. "Only use it if you have to."

"What is it?" Even to her inexperienced eye, she could tell it wasn't a normal knife.

"A holy blade. It's lethal to demons and rare," Marty explained, releasing her hand with a somber gaze. "Demons can heal from almost anything except this. You cut someone with this, they're going to be feeling it for weeks. If you hit a critical spot, they'll die within seconds."

"Damn. How did you get one?" It was just the right size to fit into her purse. She'd have to be careful about digging around inside it, though, or she’s cut herself.

"I found it," Marty said dismissively and continued, "Most demons will recognize it on sight. So if someone is threatening you, and as long as they don't have a gun, taking that thing out should be enough to scare 'em off. However, if you have to use it..." 

Marty took her wrist and guided her hand over his body, pointing out each vulnerable spot. "Wait until they are close and get them between the ribs, heart, and even in the stomach can instantly kill them. Also, across the throat is good or through the eye."

"This is . . .this is a gruesome conversation," she muttered.

"Honey, you can't be softhearted in Hell," Marty said gravely, his hand letting go of hers to cup her chin. "People here will hurt you without a second thought. You hesitate, and they will take that opportunity to do you harm."

Liz recalled Mr. Edgard towering over her with fury pushing over the edge of restraint. "Don't worry, I won't hesitate."

"Good," he said, but he didn't appear to be much relieved. "And I have to ask, when did you get a tattoo?"

***

"Alright, Liz, here's how this is gonna work," Angel Dust told her as they walked side by side along the street towards Midnight Song club. "I'm the hot one, and you're the ugly girl."

"What?" Liz had been focusing on walking in the stilettos without tripping, but now she was staring at him, incredulous. "How am I the ugly girl?"

"Because you're with me, and I'm on the monument of hotness in Hell," Angel Dust replied, hefting up his chest puff with both upper hands. 

Liz should have known better than to expect him to show up in a tux or a suit. He was wearing a long hot pink evening gown that split at the front giving his legs free rein. A long blonde wig trailed down his back like a waterfall of curls. Long lashes and expertly applied makeup made him the model of femininity. 

"To be fair, you're not exactly ugly, but standing next to me . . ."

"I get it," Liz sighed, feeling put out with her simple black dress. "I'm the mediocre girl the pretty girl takes out to make herself look prettier in comparison."

Angel Dust gave her a wink. "Ya got it."

_ God, I'm playing the ugly girl to a seven foot, gay furry pink spider demon.  _ Liz thought bitterly, taking a hit to her pride. It wasn't that she was vain, but dammit, she tried hard to maintain her figure through exercise and dieting and self-care, but alas, she couldn't compete with a spider demon.

"While all the fellas are gonna be goin' for me, the smart ones, the ones who know they ain't gotta chance with me, are gonna try for you," Angel Dust explained. 

"Thanks for the warning," Liz grumbled. "Are they still behind us?"

"Yep. If your pops follows any closer, people gonna think he's tryin' to kidnap us."

"Should I signal them to back off?"

"Naw, just don't look back. Stalkers are common down here."

It was hard to keep up with Angel Dust's long strides, and sometimes she would grasp one of his arms to steady herself lest she tripped. "Sorry, these heels are . . ."

On the wall behind Angel Dust was a mural. Graffiti had stained the buildings and walls of Pentagram City, all of them rough with rude messages and cursing, but this was different . . .beautiful. It was a white crane or an egret about to take flight from a pool of water. So life-like, she could see the water rippling from its legs and droplets spraying from its spread wings and sunlight glistening in its dark beaded eyes.

Even Angel Dust was impressed. Whistling, he regarded the mural for a few moments before raising his phone and taking a picture. "Shit, somebody has talent."

"They sure do," Liz whispered. There was a familiarity in the art, something she had seen before, but that was impossible. It couldn't be . . . that would mean . . . 

Angel Dust interrupted her thoughts when he linked his lower arm with hers. "Here we go, toots, smile . . .well . . .smile with your eyes at least."

They turned a corner and saw the Midnight Song. There was a large neon sign of a grinning face in a moon singing with a trail of musical notes leaving its open mouth. It would have been a charming sign, save for the moon's eyes moving organically as it gazed at the long line at the front door. 

Angel Dust prevented her from turning towards the line and led her where a huge wolfman guarded the doors. Gray fur stuck out in tufts from the black shirt stretched across a broad chest and thick arms. He was checking names on a clipboard clutched in a meaty paw and scrutinizing each guest with red eyes.

He flicked an ear at them as they approached. "Line starts back there."

Angel Dust drew a hand along the wolf man's arm with a seductive flair, walking the fingers over the biceps. "Might wanna check your list, babe, for Angel Dust and guest?"

Shrugging off Angel’s touch, the wolfman did a cursory check and nodded, "Sure, come right on in, ladies."

There were moans and cursing from the line as he stepped aside and allowed them through. Angel Dust winked at the wolfman and drew Liz along. Blue overlights cast a luminous glow across the floor in a resemblance of moonlight. Music with a heavy beat drowned out the sound of conversation and dining. It was hard not to stare as they weaved between patrons and tables. There was a woman with large batlike wings flirting with a cyclopic man with oily dark skin whose single eye was bright yellow. An imp man was dancing so close to another man with green skin to the point she wondered how they could breathe. 

"You've been here before?" She had to raise her voice to be heard over the din of music and demons.

"Several times," Angel Dust replied, towing her along towards a table set close to a wall. It was an excellent spot to see the crowd without anyone approaching them from an angle they can't see. "I called ahead t' get us on the list. Val's name opens doors, ya see."

"Good idea," Liz said but doubted Angel Dust could hear her. 

The pub tables had tall seats sized for tall demons which made them almost too high for her to climb, especially in her stilettos. She managed to heft herself up onto the chair, and the seat was wide enough that she could sit comfortably with her legs crossed. 

The last time she had visited a club like this was in her twenties when she interned for United Methodist Services. It had become a way to blow off steam after a stressful day in the office until she realized how useful a tool it was to expose defendants for misusing funds or infidelity. Then it became part of her job, and she stopped going once she joined the offices of St. Christopher's Sanctuary for survivors of abuse, assault, and trauma where the work was demanding and never ending. 

Thinking about work reignited a sense of homesickness and worry. Maybe Rathel was the one they wanted, and she could go home soon after this. And how was she supposed to return home if the imps who tried to kill her hold the means of creating a portal to Earth? 

Her phone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts, and it was a text message from Marty.

**Marty** : Did you get in?

Rolling her eyes, she thought of how he most certainly did watch them enter the building, but she responded with a quick yes. 

**Marty** : Be careful _._

**Liz:** **** I will be. Don't worry _. _

"Want a line, doll?" 

While she was distracted, Angel Dust was tapping powder into a short line on an unfolded piece of paper. Liz gaped and looked around to see if anyone was looking. However, she saw others with the same idea. A table was passing around a bong, a goat-like man was injecting himself with a syringe case lying open on the table before him. She kept forgetting she was in Hell, where doing drugs was not only legal but expected and encouraged. 

"I'm good," she declined and watched Angel Dust snort up the line. "So, what now? I don't know who I'm looking for."

"They'll come t' us," Angel Dust said, rubbing his nose and putting away the paper into his purse. 

"Should I order drinks?"

"Naw, babe, they're already on the way."

Before Liz could ask what he meant, a waiter placed two martinis in front of them. They were glowing bright green with little olives that resembled eyeballs bobbled in the liquid. "From the man at the bar, ladies."

With a lift of his chin, he indicated a demon with large horns and four eyes gazing at them from the bar. Angel Dust waggled his fingers at him in a flirtatious wave, and following his example, she gave the demon a friendly wave. Seeing the invitation, he came to their table, and Liz let Angel Dust take the lead in the conversation.

And like Angel Dust had predicted, the demon was more interested in him than her. It was a lot of flirty and innuendo between the demon and Angel, almost to the point that Liz believed they would ditch her to find a hotel room. She lifted up the mask to take a cautious sip of the martini and wince at the alcohol's strength. 

"Do ya wanna get out of here?" The demon asked with a lustful eye at Angel Dust. 

"Ohhh, but I can't leave my friend behind," Angel Dust moaned in a forlorn manner, patting Liz on the arm.

The demon glanced at Liz, giving her a quick analytical look from the neck down. "She can come too."

"No, no, babe, she's lookin' to hook up with an old friend that comes here. Who was that, hon?" Angel Dust gave her a seductively questioning look, and Liz took that as her cue.

"His name is Tim Rathel. We knew each other on Earth," Liz said, trying to sound like an airhead. 

"Rathel . . ." Liz had to give him credit; he was actually trying to recall the name. "I think I heard that name a few times around here."

Letting her foot slip from its perch on the stool's rung, she let her leg brush against his. The toe of her shoe lightly prodded at the inside of his pants, near the knee. "We would be grateful if you could help us find him?"

This earned her another assessing look. She may not be as appealing as Angel Dust, but he must have seen something in her he liked as he nodded. "I can ask around."

"Oh, thank you so much," Liz said, tilting her head and trying to smile with her eyes. 

She was expecting a follow-up from Angel Dust, but none came. Angel Dust was frowning over her head at the door with trepidation filling his eyes. "Aw shit. Von Eldritch."

Liz followed Angel Dust's line of sight to see a trio of demons waltzing through the doors as comfortable as if entering their own home. There was something different about them. She had seen a diverse variety of demons since her arrival in Hell, all of them inhuman with no trace of humanity in their features, but these were different in a way she couldn't put her finger on. The sight of them sent chills down her spine like no demon has before. 

As they strode onto the dance floor, she was able to get a better look at them. They were all shades of green, and yellows and their clothing were tailored suits of expensive fashions. The guests instinctively moved away from them in a circular berth. 

"Don't look directly at them, doll . . .shit, too late." Angel Dust sighed, as the leader of the group, a tall male wearing a green hat with teeth along the brim, caught sight of them. "Just let me do the talkin' and keep your head down."

Their potential suitor was already making his escape with a quick, 'have a goodnight, girls' and ran for the safety of the bar. Liz wondered if they should follow him or not, but Angel Dust seemed adamant to stay where they are, so she kept her eyes down until the trio arrived at their table. 

They reminded her of sea creatures. A tall fellow with pale tentacles tied back in a ponytail regarded them with something akin to disdain while a lanky demon had slits along his neck with spikey filaments. The center one, the tallest of the three, was green-skinned with vibrant red eyes with lime green pupils. Green hair slicked back from his forehead, and he had a confident smile that told her he was an entitled bastard that was accustomed to getting whatever he wanted in life. 

Yep, she was used to seeing his kind in the courtroom. The spoiled brats who knew daddy's money and connections were going to keep them from facing justice. They made Liz's life hell and made her work extra hard to get a conviction. On Earth, they were bad enough . . .but in Hell, they may be dangerous.

"Hi, Seviathan," Angel Dust said in the most friendly voice Liz had ever heard him used. "Ya slummin' it tonight?"

"Got bored with the usual crowd," he made himself comfortable at their table, leaning against it and eyeing Angel Dust, outright undressing him with his eyes. "The cousins and I decided to check out the west side of the Pentagram."

The gilled cousin tilted his head with wide milky white eyes. "I thought we were here on business."

"We're mixing business with pleasure, Dorkon," Seavithan snapped, flashing lime green teeth. 

"It's Dagon, Sea," the milky eyed cousin muttered. "My name is Dagon."

Ignoring him, Seviathan continued to rake his eyes over Angel Dust. "One could almost mistake you for a lady, Angel. You're pretty enough to make me almost not care."

Angel Dust gave him a toothsome grin and shrug. "Everyone wants a piece of me."

While the tall fellow with the tentacle ponytail rolled his eyes in disdain Dagon looked between Angel Dust and Liz and decided upon her. He sidled around the table to stand close enough to invade her personal space with his sleeve brushing her arm. He smelled like fresh seaweed drying on the beach, which made her nose wrinkle beneath the mask. Moving away from him might not be taken well, so she sat still with her head slightly bowed above her drink. 

She was holding her phone beneath the table when a text message pops up on the screen.

**Marty** : What's happening now?

**Liz** : Talking with Von Eldritch people.

There was only a span of two seconds before his response came: Be careful! Get away with them if you can!

"What's your name?"

Dagon was leaning towards her, an arm laying across the back of her seat. The smell of seaweed filled her nostrils, but she managed to swallow back her disgust and discomfort in a feign of shyness. Lowering her eyes and dipping her head, she said, "Elizabeth."

"Hi, Elizabeth, my name is Dagon."

_ I heard you say it seconds ago.  _ She kept that thought to herself and gave him a shy smile, but then realized he couldn't see it past the mask. "Hello, Dagon."

And like any chauvinistic entitled male, he perceived politeness as an invitation and leaned closer enough for her to catch a whiff of his breath. It was more pleasant than the seaweed smell, she found, as it reminded her of the ocean. Liz recalled Angel Dust's warning about those who knew they stood no chance with him settling for her. Or maybe in this case, since the one called Seviathan seemed to have set his sights on Angel, she was the only thing available.

This wasn't going as planned at all. 

She caught the name Rathel and looked up to see ponytail speaking.

His arms were crossed, disinterested in either of them and was giving Seaviathan an annoyed look. "I thought we were here to speak with Rathel."

"And we will later," Seviathan replied. "We can have a few drinks first. Dorkon, go get us a round of shots."

With a vexed whine, Dagon withdrew from Liz's space and headed for the bar. She tried to catch Angel Dust's eye, but he maintained a bit of a power struggle with Seviathan, who was encroaching on his personal space. She had a feeling the Von Eldritches weren't people one could offend without facing dire consequences. Why else would Angel Dust put up with Seviathan's unwanted advances? 

So how was she going to learn more information about Rathel without making it obvious or offending them? Dagon seemed the most likely of the trio to let something slip, and she had missed her opportunity to go with him for the shots and talk with him. Well, since it appeared Dagon is their gopher, once they send him on another errand, she'll go along with him in the facade of flirting and being alone with him.

Her phone vibrated with another text message. 

**Marty:** **** Are you alright? What's happening now?

She replied: Everything is fine. Having shots with Von Eldritchs

His response: I said get away from them!

Easier said than done, she thought sourly. Especially now that they knew something about Rathel.

**Liz** : We have a lead on Rathel.

Dagon returned with a tray of shots that were passed around. Liz made a point to grab the glass furthest from her. Dagon didn't strike her as someone that would slip a roofie but didn't want to take chances. 

While the demons threw back their shots, she lifted up her mask and tossed back hers. It burned all the way from her tongue, down her throat, and into her gut. The heat of it flowed through her, spiraling out from her core and into her limbs. It was the most potent drink she ever had in her life. She swayed slightly on the stool, and for the first time, she was grateful that Dagon resumed his close position next to her as she deftly used his arm for support without making it appear the drink had almost knocked her off her ass.

"What's under the mask?" Dagon asked, raising a hand towards her face. 

Tugging the mask down into place, she drew back slightly, protecting it against her mouth and nose with a hand over it. "I just dropped down here a couple days ago. The air is too harsh for me."

"Oh, a new Sinner," Seviathan gave her a look that only said held a modicum of interest in her. "More Sinners to muddle the streets and exasperate the overpopulation problem."

"Hey, without us, Sinners, Hell wouldn't be half this interestin'," Angel Dust playfully wagged a finger at Seviathan. 

"Then Hell would be purer," Seviathan shrugged. 

A lot of this conversation was going over her head. Now that she recovered from the shot, she needed to find a way to get information about Rathel from this trio. Turning to Dagon, she inclined her head in what she hoped was a flirty look with her eyes. "Do you come to the Midnight Song often?"

"Only when we have business on this side of the Pentagram," Dagon replied, taking pleasure in her interest in him. "Seviathan's Dad wants him to come by to . . ."

"She doesn't need to know that," ponytail interjected angrily. "For Satan's sake, how desperate are you to get laid? She's a Sinner!"

She wouldn't have thought being labeled a Sinner in Hell would be such a taboo. Weren't the majority Sinners? 

"C'mon, Kraken, don't cockblock me, man," Dagon whined. "She's cute."

"She's wearing a damn mask! How do you know she doesn't have a harelip or a beard or tentacles for a mouth?" Ponytail, now with a name, Kraken, shot him an exasperated look before rounding on Liz. "Prove me right by taking off the mask."

Oh, she would be more than happy to prove him  _ wrong  _ instead, but she glanced at Angel Dust first. He gave her a shrug. "A few minutes won't hurt."

She unhooked the mask from her ear and hung loosely from her face, hoping it hadn't smeared her lipstick.

"See! She is cute!" Dagon said, finding validation in Liz's appearance.

"She looks like one of my father's mistresses," Seviathan replied with an impartial air. Then he turned his attention to Angel Dust, a hand raising to cup the spider demon's face. "My father owns a private house in this part of the Pentagram. Once our business concludes here, we can have a private party with you and your friend."

"Sorry, Sea, I'm actually on the clock," Angel Dust replied, not showing any sign of disappointment. "I'm Elizabeth’s escort tonight."

"Then bring her along," Seviathan shrugged.

Liz was still experiencing the aftereffects of the shot. Her skin tingled from the tips of her fingers and toes to the shoulders and hips. It was just one shot. It was strong, but it shouldn't be that strong. A heavy stone fell into her stomach as she realized what was really happening. She hadn't experienced this in years, and it was happening now of all times. 

"Angel, I-I need to use the restroom." She had minutes at most. "Right now."

"Then go," Kraken muttered. "What? You need someone to take you? Are you in grade school?"

Ignoring him, Liz scooted off her chair and nearly crumbled to the floor from dropping from such a high spot onto stilettos. Grabbing Angel Dust's wrist, she squeezed hard, hoping to convey the urgency. "Please, come with me. I don't want to go alone."

Angel Dust's eyes flicked between her and Seviathan, who was looking less than displeased. "Sure, babe, I'll hold your hair out of the way while you puke."

He was barely off his stool before Liz was towing him along, almost brushing Dagon aside in her hurry. "Which way?"

"This way, but calm down, doll," Angel Dust muttered, annoyed. "I didn't pick you as a lightweight."

"I'm not - it's not what you - please, let's go," she didn't have time to explain. The tingling in her limbs was getting worse, telling her that time was running out. 

The restroom was across the dining room, and they had to weave their way through. Angel Dust took the lead, shuffling people aside with three arms while the other led her along. More than once, someone tried to pull them into a dance, but they were rebuffed with a swear or a swat. Finally, Angel Dust swept her into the restroom, which was thankfully empty.

"Lock the door," Liz moaned, feeling her legs becoming leaden. 

"Ya ain't gotta worry about bein' embarrassed for pukin'. Plenty of folks down here has seen -"

"That's not . . .oh God, Angel Dust, just . . . don't panic and don't let anyone in here and please, please, don't put anything in my mouth."

The amusement faded from his face as she lowered herself onto the floor. "What's goin' on? Whattaya doin'?"

Her time had run out. The epileptic seizure took control of her body. Her limbs no longer responded and acted of their own accord. Her eyes rolled up in her head, and she blacked out. 

  
  



	15. Arc 3: Finding Rathel - The Radio Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Radio Demon appears, Marty panics, Liz gets freaked out, and Angel Dust is annoyed.
> 
> Commissioned art by @Ravenousscorpian

"Something's wrong," Marty muttered, talons tapping the back of his phone as he awaited a response.

"Nothing's wrong," Shard told him with a lit cigarette between his teeth. 

"She hasn't texted back . . ."

"In five fuckin' minutes. She's probably on the john or busy with somethin'. Give her time."

"I need to go in there."

"How? They aren't going to let a chump like you in there," Shard retorted, tapping ashes out the window. "Just be cool."

"She's in there with the Von Eldritches."

"Right, and she's with Angel Dust, the celebrated porn star. They're probably just brushing elbows and tryin' to chat 'em up. Nothin' to worry about."

The car was parked in an alley, just a street down where they could see the front of the Midnight Song glowing like a beacon in the night. He should be in there with Liz. She didn't know all the dangers Hell could pose for her and if she's mingling with the Von Eldritches . . .

"I can go invisible and . . ."

"You're not going to do shit," Shard replied with a dangerous edge in his voice. "A place like that has wards to keep out any magic or unwanted guests that go through the front door. And if ya do make it in there, what then? You gonna offend the Von Eldritches, one of the top noble families in Hell, because they talked to your daughter? Give away her disguise and paint a big fuckin' target on her back?"

Marty wanted to argue, hell, he wanted to deck Shard for saying things that made too much sense. Taking a deep swig from his flask, he checked his phone for a response, and his worry deepened when none came.

***

She returned to consciousness in phases. First, she could feel the cold floor beneath her, then heard a voice calling her name, then smell a sweet candied musk.

"Hey, hey, Liz, baby, ya gotta snap outta it," the voice was telling her. 

Who was that? She recognized the voice, but not the name attached to it. Whoever it was, spoke as if they knew her. And why did her feet ache?

"Hey, wake up!" 

A slap across her face made her eyes water, but she was able to focus on the source of the voice. A pink face with large heterochromia eyes hovered above hers, and she was able to pluck a name from memory. "Angel Dust?"

"Yeah, doll, yeah, that's me. Are ya alright?"

"I will be . . .I just need a few minutes." Her head was pounding, and she was exhausted. "How long . . .how long did it last?"

"Too fuckin' long. Jesus, maybe a minute?"

"That's good . . ."

"What the fuck happened, Liz? You blacked out and began twitching."

Sighing, she tried to sit up, and her head swam. Nope, wasn't quite ready for that yet. "I have epilepsy."

"Shit . . ." Angel Dust breathed. "Does Marty . . ."

"No, he doesn't know, and you don't tell him," Liz shook her head and regretted it as nausea almost made her gag. God, she hadn't taken her anti-seizure medication since the night the imps attacked her. The medicine must have left her system by now. "I'll tell him . . .but not right now."

"What if you . . .ya know . . . blackout again?"

"I shouldn't black out again for a few more days," Liz promised. "At least, I don't think I will. Jesus, my head hurts."

"I got some Vicodin," Angel Dust offered, snapping open his purse. "It's great for hangovers." 

"You have Vicodin? In Hell?" 

"Oh yeah, you get all the drugs down here, doll."

Hope rose in her heart. "What about gabapentin? Or phenytoin?"

"Never heard of those, but I ain't never looked for 'em neither," Angel Dust shrugged. "If they're prescription drugs or narcotics, then someone is selling it somewhere in Hell."

She felt a heavy weight lift off her shoulders at the possibility of controlling her seizures down here. It was a good feeling that her nausea ebbed away, and she was able to sit up, but with some help from Angel Dust. After a drink of water from the sink to swallow the Vicodin. She kicked off the stilettos as her legs were still wobbling and her sense of balance entirely back yet. 

While she recovered, Angel Dust began smoking a cigarette that gave off an oddly crimson line of smoke from the lit tip. It didn't have that noxious smell of burning nicotine, but a sweet musk that sent a pearl of desire through her lower belly. It must be a positive sign the throes of the seizure were leaving her. 

She checked her phone and saw over a dozen messages from Marty. "Shit, Dad, just calm down."

"What?" Angel Dust asked, lowering his cigarette, which continued to fill the air with its fragrance. 

"My Dad is worried about why I haven't replied to each and every one of his texts," she muttered as she sent a reply assuring him that everything was alright.  _ I'm fine. Angel and I went to the restroom.  _

Marty's response was so quick, she believed he had been staring at the phone awaiting her reply.  _ Did you get away from the Von Eldritches? _

**Liz** :  _ For right now. _

**Marty** :  _ Stay away from them! _

"Angel, can you tell me who those guys were?" She was tired of being warned without being given clear information on why she should take the warning seriously. "I take it from how you handled them they're important somebodies you don't want to cross."

"Got it in one, doll," Angel Dust said, dropping the cigarette into the toilet. "The Von Eldritch Family is nobility and close to the royal family. So much so that prick, Seviathan, used to date the princess."

"Really? That's the one that said something about Hell being purer earlier." She checked her makeup. It was a bit smeared around the mouth but easily remedied.

"Oh, don't listen t' that bullshit," Angel Dust said, rolling his eyes and fluffing out his hair and chest puff in the mirror next to her. "If it wasn't for us Sinners, then Hell would be nothing more than fire and brimstone. Where do ya think the nightclubs, television, porn, and smartphones they enjoy so much come from? Oh, please, whenever the hellborn nobles got somethin' to bitch about, it's always about the Sinners and how we're muckin' up the purity of Hell."

"So what do we do? They're looking for Rathel too." 

"Dunno. If it was anyone else, I'd say get to work on Dorkon. That's one who has loose lips," Angel Dust said, also checking his makeup. "He may be a little shit, but he's the Von Eldritches’ little shit. They don't exactly like others t' make fun of their clowns, ya know what I mean?" 

"Damn," Liz sighed. "So we can either cut our losses and sneak out of here or take a risk and use them to find Rathel."

"It's your call, doll," Angel Dust shrugged all four shoulders. 

***

"Would you relax? You did all that panickin', and they were just on the john like I said," Shard groaned. 

"Shut up, Shard," Marty snapped, thumbing a text message to Liz. "I'm calling this whole thing off."

"What the fuck, man!? They got a lead on Rathel!" Shard snatch the phone from Marty's grasp and held it out of his reach when he tried to retrieve it. 

"I don't want her anywhere near the Von Eldritch. I want her out of there now."

"Jesus Christ, she said it herself that they're fine. What are you going to tell Tony Shark? Telling him that Rathel is connected to the Val Eldritch will not be enough, and you know it."

"I don't give a shit."

Marty didn't know how to explain the sudden weight in his stomach that told him something was wrong, that something had happened to her inside. He hated feeling helpless or this restraint that kept him from running inside and taking her out of there, even if it was over his shoulder.

With his attention on the Midnight Song's gibbous glow, he failed to notice the street darkening as shadows crawled along the walls and pavement. A cane tapped the asphalt and tap-shoes clicked along while a low musical hum carried an old tune. A figure stroll along the street, a pinstripe coat swaying with each step, catching a silent wind. 

Oblivious to the sudden change in atmosphere and the figure leisurely walking past the car, Shard yelled at Marty. "Are you out of your fuckin' mind, Marty!? Tony is going to bite your goddamn head off if you don't pay your dues."

"And I will! But not at Liz's expense!"

"She's the reason why you're in this mess!" Shard hissed, baring his teeth in barely contained fury. 

"Give me back the phone, Shard," Marty growled, tail lashing his legs and floorboard. 

"No," Shard's eyes were narrowed into yellow slits. 

Marty's eyes began to narrow, then suddenly went wide and large. "Shard . . ."

"What?" 

"What's going on over there?" Marty was pointing at something up the street behind Shard. 

"You've been watchin' too many cartoons," Shard retorted sardonically. "If you think I'm just gonna turn around so you can punch me in the back of the head and get your phone back."

"Goddammit, Shard, look at the club! Look at the moon!"

It wasn't so much as the ferocity in Marty's voice, but the fear in them that made Shard turn around. The Midnight Song's neon sign of the moon was blood red, and line of people outside were fleeing for their lives in all directions.

A couple was charging down the street towards them. Shard rolled down the window and stuck his head out. "Hey! What's going on? Why ya runnin'?"

A female demon with yellow fur stopped, but her boyfriend, a demonic horse, almost dragged her along in his haste to get away. She managed to shout, "The Radio Demon just went into the Midnight Song!"

"Oh shit," Shard breathed. “Marty . . .”

But Marty wasn't there. He was already sprinting up the street towards the Midnight Song, going invisible as he went.

***

After fixing her makeup and adjusting her hair, she slipped the mask back into place. "If the Von Eldritches are out there, let's try to get information about Rathel from them. I'll work on Dagon while you keep Seviathan busy and . . ."

"Wait, do you hear that?" Angel Dust stood by the door, head cocked towards it. "Is that . . .Eddie Cantor playing?"

Liz moved towards the door to listen but stopped when the screaming began. There was a rumble of stampeding footsteps, tables and chairs falling over, and glass breaking. Hands and feet hammered on the restroom door, demanding to be let inside and cursing when it didn't open. 

"Dammit, we gotta get outta here," Angel Dust groaned. 

"Isn't there a window in here?" There usually was one in the movies or television where the hero can sneak out of, but there was none. Only solid walls surrounded them. 

"Are you kiddin'? They don't wanna anyone sneakin' in t' the club through the window." Angel Dust drew a handgun from his purse and checked the bullets. "I think they've given up gettin' inside. C'mon, let's go."

"Shouldn't we stay in here until it's. . ."

"No, we can't stay here. We gotta book it," Angel Dust motioned her over. "We might need t' run, so carry your shoes and stay close t' me."

With a hand on her wrist, he opened the door, and they stepped into the aftermath of the chaos. It was like a tornado had blown through the club. Tables and chairs were overturned, broken glass glittered on the floor, and the soft luminous glow that lit the dancefloor was now an ominous scarlet. The walls were covered in shadows that seemed to writhe and crawl like insects, rolling and squirming like churning water. Looking at the glass, she reconsidered going without shoes on her feet, but there was plenty of space to step safely as long as she was careful. Angel Dust scanned the area, a hand still on her wrist, but even he couldn’t see what had caused a nightclub of people to go into a mad dash.

A song was playing across the speakers, but it was an old classic she didn't recognize, and it was out of place in a modern dance club. It had that constant hiss you heard from old songs before the days of vinyl and CDs, and a band was accompanying the smooth voice singer.

"Shit," Angel Dust sighed, letting go of her wrist and calming down, losing the tension in his limbs. "Shoulda known he'd come lookin' for me when I skipped out on therapy today."

"Who?" 

She got her answer soon enough. Sitting alone at the bar, nursing a bourdon was a red demon. She had never seen someone so dedicated to a color before: red hair with black ends, red coat, red gloves, red undershirt, and even a red cane was leaning against the bar next to him. When he turned to them, the most brilliant red eyes glowed above the widest grin that would have been impossible on a human face to bear. 

Chills rolled down her spine, and goosebumps spread across her arms so quickly that for a second, she feared another seizure was coming. Not even Von Eldritches drew this reaction from her. Liz crossed her arms, hands cupping her elbows to keep them from shaking, and she stayed back while Angel Dust approached the red demon.

"Don't tell me ya ruined the club because I missed therapy," Angel growled, upper arms crossed beneath his chest puff and lower hands on his hips. "I left a note!"

"Now Angel," the red demon said through his smile. There was a distortion in his voice as if he was speaking through an old radio. "You agreed to participate in any rehabilitation activities laid down by the princess. If you don't go to therapy, then you aren't on the road to redemption."

"You just want to watch me trip on that road!" Angel Dust rolled his eyes.

"Of course!" The red demon declared as jovially as if Angel Dust offered him a treat. "To do that, you must first be on the road to redemption!"

"Dammit, Alastor, I gotta pay my dues! I'm workin' here!" Angel Dust pointed at Liz, who would rather he not have called attention to her.

Those crimson orbs switched to Liz. It was like ice sliding across her bare skin. He didn’t look at her with a sexual appetite, but something else that was just as carnal and visceral. The pupils straighten into slits, and the head tilted at an impossible angle atop the thin neck. A shadow crawled across the floor, it's thin body trailing behind it like a serpent, towards her. Horns sharpened into needles branched out from its head, and jagged teeth opened as it drew closer.

She took several steps back, and her heel pressed down on broken glass. With a shriek of pain, she lost her balance. There was that 'oh shit' moment of knowing that she was able to land on the floor of broken glass and braced for the lancing pain that was sure to happen. Instead of pain, there was vertigo from being lifted so suddenly.

She had no idea how it happened, but Alastor, the red demon, in a matter of seconds, left the bar, caught her before she would land in the glass, and was holding her like a bride about to cross the threshold. Heart pounding, she gazed up at the twin crimson orbs peering down into her own eyes and into her soul.

_ He knows. He fucking knows I'm human.  _

There was no doubt in her conviction. It was a deep instinctive knowledge that rattled her. Like a rabbit hiding in the bush knowing a predator had caught their scent.

"And what's your name, my dear?" 

He smelled of expensive cologne, but there was also the scent of dust and something else that reminded her of copper. Her throat was so dry, it was hard to speak. She managed to whisper, "Elizabeth Carter."

"You wouldn't happen to have any family in Louisiana, Elisa?"

It was such an odd question that she didn't notice him not calling her by her name. "No, my family is from Kansas."

"No extended family down south?" Alastor inquired, giving her what would have been a grandfatherly smile, but was marred by the sharp sinister grin, penetrating red eyes, and the panicking inducing predatory malice that seemed to hover over his shoulder.

"Maybe from my dad's side?" Liz replied, thinking she would have been safer falling on broken glass than being in this demon's arms. “Angel . . .can we . . .can we please go . . .I need fresh air." 

She reached for him like a child wanting a parent to take them from a stranger. Maybe Angel Dust was as eager to get away from Alastor, or perhaps he saw the fear in her eyes, and that was what prompted him to take her from the red demon. It was a good change, and she felt better, but not much safer.

"Al, tell Charlie I'll be there tomorrow bright and early to talk about our' feelings'. Right now, I'm workin' and stop pawin' my clients." Angel Dust said as he picked up Liz's fallen shoes with a free hand and began carrying her towards the backdoor exit. "And tell Husk to give Fat Nuggets his late night snack!"

Liz didn't want to, but she raised her eyes above Angel Dust's shoulder anyway to look back at the red demon, Alastor. His eyes met hers, and the grin spread so wide it cut into the cheekbones. 

"Goodbye, Elisa."

***

Marty couldn't cut through the crowd, even with his invisibility. People cried out in shock when an unseeing force shoved them out of the way, and a woman screamed when Marty lifted and set her aside to get closer to the entrance. Which was barred and locked, there was no give as he yanked on the front doors.

"Dammit!" He growled and began looking for a window which was too dark and opaque for him to see through. 

His mind raced as he began searching the crowd for Lizzie and Angel Dust. Would they have made it out of there with the crowd? Angel Dust would have gotten Lizzie out of there, wouldn't he? Surely they had enough sense to flee with the herd.

The Radio Demon was notorious for slaughtering whole districts at a whim. If he turned on a radio, would there be screams in the background of Bing Crosby or the Dorsey Brothers? 

"Lizzie! Angel! Are you out here?" He screamed, startling several people nearby when they couldn't see the source of the voice. 

***

"Alright, toots, ride's over," Angel Dust dropped her onto her feet once they were outside the back alley behind the Midnight Song. 

She checked her heel and saw there wasn't much bleeding, but there was definitely a hole in her stocking. "Damn."

"Gonna live? Need me t' put a tourniquet on it?" Angel Dust said, taking a cigarette pack out of his purse. He held out the lighter with malicious amusement. "Need me to cauterize it?"

"No, it's fine," she sighed, testing putting weight on it. It hurt, but she can walk on it. "Who was that?"

"Alastor? Oh, right, ya prolly hadn't heard of 'im yet. He's the Radio Demon." Angel Dust lit the cigarette and took a deep drag.

"Wait, that was the Radio Demon?" Now she felt stupid for not realizing it. The 30s music and his radio grained voice should have been a dead give away. A shiver went down her spine as if those red eyes were still on her. "What did he mean by therapy?"

Angel Dust sighed, shaking his head, and flicked ash from the cigarette. "Tell me ya at least heard about the Happy Hotel?"

She recalled the interview and the mention of Angel being the first patron of the hotel. “Have any demons been redeemed yet?"

He replied with a dry laugh. "Hardly. I'm the only guest, and I'm still here."

Marty had laughed at the idea also, dismissing it as the princess's pipe dream. "What's it like?"

"Boring. Charlie keeps buggin' me t' open up and talk about my 'feelings' and keeps tryin' to keep me drug free and stop having premarital sex. I rather stop breathin'," Angel Dust bemoaned. "Can you imagine the crime it would be t' take me off the sex menu?"

"If you don't believe in it and don't want to participate, then why did you sign up?" She leaned against the wall, taking the weight off her pained heel.

"Hey, free room and board," Angel Dust shrugged. 

"And Alastor is part of it?" Alastor didn't strike her as the charitable nor altruistic type. 

"He don't believe in it either. He's in it for the tears and misery of people tryin' and failin'."

"Oh, that makes more sense," Liz sighed. "Well, what do we do now?" 

"I say call it quits and head back to the car," Angel Dust sighed, sagging all four shoulders tiredly. "If Rathel here, he ain't no more."

"Yeah. I'll text Dad and tell him it was all a bust," Liz said, sharing his fatigue. 

Surprisingly, there were no other texts from Marty. She sent a text that Rathel was gone, and they were heading back. There was no instant response, which was just as well as she was more interested in getting out of there than thumbing another text. Angel Dust led them a roundabout way to avoid the crowd out front. Once people learned that Alastor was gone, they would surge back inside, despite the broken glass and furniture.

She walked with her shoes off, favoring her heel as she stuck close behind Angel Dust. There was no telling how many germs could be on the streets of Hell. Maybe Marty had some alcohol she could use to clean the wound. Bumping into Angel Dust from behind made her accidentally put weight on it, and she winced. 

"What's. . ." She didn't need to ask as she could see it for herself what made him stop in awe.

A massive mural spanning the side of the building had them go silent. It was the face of a human girl from the neck up with long raven hair floating the water. The hair spread about her face like a halo, so realistically that Liz could swear she could see it moving. Most jarringly of all was that she recognized the girl. Asian, pretty with well-defined cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes with a warm smile. 

"Jang-Mi?" Liz whispered.

There was a hiss of a spray can which drew their eyes to a figure dangling from an arched lamp post by a rope. The figure was putting details into the water with quick movements of the cans he held in each hand. Then he dropped down onto his feet to work the bottom. What Liz had believed to be a rope was actually a long monkey tail from the seat of denim overalls stained in different colors of paint. 

The demon moved along the mural, putting details here and there by switching out cans he kept in a belt around his waist with a speed that was impossible to keep up with. Liz recognized the technique as she had seen him in action before when he was alive. 

She knew who he was with a deep gut feeling, and it brought tears to her eyes to see him down here. 

"Young-ho Kim?" She said, stepping around Angel Dust, ignoring the pain in her heel as the pain in her chest was greater. 

The figure stopped in a mid streak of white, stopping the flow from the can before it could mar the mural, and slowly turned around. He lowered a seat of headphones that had been over triangular ears, and a feline face turned to hers. It was a good thing she could recognize his art as she couldn't recognize him now. Gold fur matted with paint, and large yellow eyes with slitted pupils stared back at her as a mouth dropped open to reveal catlike teeth.

"Ms. C?" 

  
  
  



	16. Arc 3: Finding Rathel - Von Eldritch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion ends abruptly. Liz and Angel Dust get an invitation they can't refuse.

The last time Liz's world was so shattered was when she met Marty two days ago. And he had been a father she couldn’t remember. Young-ho was someone she knew very well before he died. 

"Oh my God, what are you doing here?" She felt sick to the point she could feel the shot she had drank earlier, rising to make a second appearance.

Perhaps, most shocking of all was how Young-ho, without a word, turned around and ran away. Then she was after him, running in her stocking feet and ignoring the pain in her cut heel. "Young-ho! Wait!"

“Liz, don’t . . .ah, dammit. I'm gonna get broken in half," Angel Dust sighed before taking off after her.

***

Was it possible to be so frightened it physically hurt you? His heart raced, shivers went up and down his spine, and the panic built into his chest to the point he thought he was experiencing a heart attack. There was no Lizzie nor Angel Dust in the crowd, which was gathering around the front of the building now that word the Radio Demon had left the Midnight Song. 

The neon moon had returned to its soft blue color, and the old vintage music had stopped playing. The staff was doing a quick clean up before letting people inside again. He hovered by the doors, determined to be the first one inside to see if Lizzie and Angel Dust had hidden in the restroom. Or . . .perhaps they were dead on the floor.

Marty considered going back to the car to take back his phone from Shard and see if there were any messages from Lizzie, but that would take too long and would take him away from her . . . She had around here somewhere, she had to be . . .

And there she was running up the street past the Midnight Song after a golden fur demon catboy. "Young-ho! Come back! Please! Don't run away! Young-ho!"

Marty watched her chase the catboy in stunned silence, wavering between incredulous and relief. Running behind her was Angel Dust, who stopped to catch his breath, blond wig hanging in his eyes, and all shoulders heaving. He noticed the staring crowd and gave them the finger.

"What? She's a cougar on the hunt. Ho! There's a young one! Ho! Ya know whatta I mean?" Then he took off after Lizzie.

Marty began waving, shouting their names as he tried to push through the crowd. Unfortunately, his voice was drowned out by the crowd's erupting laughter, and he had been invisible the whole time. By the time he could break free, Lizzie, Angel Dust, and golden fur catboy was gone. 

***

She was a runner and could run a 5K marathon without stopping for a rest and could do a 10k marathon for charity. By all rights, she should have been able to keep up with Young-ho, but on Earth, she had her comfortable Brooks shoes, and in Hell, she was running in stockings on hard asphalt with a hurt heel. 

Young-ho ducked into an alley, and by the time she followed him, he had already scaled a fence and was on the other side. She ran to it, smacking the chain links with both hands. "Young-ho! Don't go!"

With one last unreadable look at her, he disappeared around the building. She began to climb, the links ripped the thin stockings around her toes, but she was slowly making her way to the top. 

"Whoa! Where ya think ya goin'?"

She was plucked from the fence at the waist and set on her feet by an angry, tired spider demon whose wig was almost flopping from his head. "Doll, we gotta talk about the extra cost of makin' me run across Pentagram after your ass."

"But he's. . ." she started, but Angel Dust cut her off with a severe look.

"He's gone. No way are ya gonna catch up t' him now. He's half way to CandyLand by now."

"What the hell is CandyLand?" 

Angel Dust was trying to adjust his wig, but gave up, snatched it off his head, and tossed it aside on an overflowing garbage can. "It's where the kid Sinners go." 

Surely she misheard him. "Kids have been sent to Hell?"

"Well, yeah," Angel Dust said, fluffing his hair. Upon seeing her shocked face, he said quickly, "Not little kids like you're thinkin'. Not babies or grade schoolers. Most of 'em are teenagers."

"And they stay in a place called CandyLand?" 

"Yep. Cooking up drugs."

"Oh. My. God!" As if she couldn't get anymore shocked tonight. 

She was reaching the point where her brain has had enough. From dealing with the Von Eldritches, having a seizure, meeting the Radio Demon, seeing Young-ho in Hell, and now learning that were kids in Hell manufacturing drugs pushed her to the point where she could just collapse.

Well, she was officially done with tonight. "I'm going to text Dad and ask him to pick us up. I'm ready to go to bed."

"Sure, toots, I'm pretty much done myself," Angel Dust said, stretching all four arms at different angles. "However. . ." He glanced along the empty street and then at her. "Part of what your pops paid for is sex before the end of the night."

Her eyebrows rose as she surveyed where they were. It was isolated, despite being out in the open. Swallowing, she looked up at him. "You're okay having sex with a woman?"

"I was paid," Angel Dust shrugged, nonchalantly. 

"But are you okay having sex with me even though I'm not a guy?" 

"I would prefer ya as a fella," Angel Dust admitted. "Don't get me wrong. Yer cute and watching you get yourself off was kinda hot, but you're not really my flavor."

"Then . . .no sex," Liz sighed. "I mean, I do want to have sex with you. . .but if you're not going to be into it too, then I'm turning it down." Not to mention it was going to be a massive blow to her self-esteem and confidence as a sexual partner to see Angel Dust roll his eyes in the act as he waited for her to get off. 

"Ya sure?" Angel Dust asked, arching an eyebrow, surprised at being turned down. "I can go down on you instead. Ladies say I'm pretty good with my tongue."

She looked at Angel Dust's jagged teeth with a gleaming gold tooth. Like all demons she had seen, his dentae were arranged in a slasher smile. Shaking her head, "Not with those teeth."

"Handjob?" Angel Dust rubbed his thumb over the fingertips of one hand. 

That didn't seem too intrusive for either of them. "You sure?"

"C'mon, ya had a rough night. Lemme give ya somethin' good to remember."

"Alright," she agreed. 

"C' mere, doll," Angel Dust beckoned.

***

_ Well, if this was ever on someone's bucket list, then I'm knocking that off the list.  _

He had allowed her to pull down the front of his dress to expose his chest puff. It was just as Marty described, it was like rubbing her face into a furry pillow. The fur felt so good on her face and cheeks, thick and deep, and so very soft. He smelled of sweet musk, like his cigarettes, and helped to bring her closer and closer. His upper arms held her, his lower left hand held one of hers, their fingers lacing, and the last one was up her skirt. His wrist worked in steady motions that made her step up on the balls of her feet, one ankle slightly turned inward. 

"Please, make me cum," she whispered, his fur tickling her lips as she pleaded. 

"Shhh, babydoll, you'll get there soon, I promise ya," Angel Dust replied. 

Her hips rocked against his hand, applying wonderful bits of pressure where it was wanted. She dropped a hand, cupping his between her thighs, putting more pressure against her sex. God, she was almost there, just a bit more.

As if sensing it, or being an experienced sex worker, clued him in by her actions, he quickened the pacing of his wrist, drawing her closer against him with his upper arms. "Right there?"

“Yes . . .yesssss . . . .”

God, she was ready to climax, but she was torn between enjoying what she was experiencing now for a bit longer with the promise of something better at the edge or receiving the mind-blowing orgasm now. Before she could decide whether to hold off by reducing pressure or just go forward into an orgasm, the euphoria was shattered when a car horn startled them both. 

"Ah!" She yelped as Angel Dust's sharp nails grazed tender flesh. And experienced even more pain when she dropped heavily onto her heels and her cut skin protested with a sharp throb.

At the end of the alley was a green limo with barnacles clinging to the underside while the bumpers were curved tentacles that quivered and twitched with suckers that pucker hungrily. All of it indicated who the limo belonged to, and sure enough, a black window slid down, and Seviathan stuck his head out, giving them a shit-eating grin.

"Having fun without us?"

"Fuck," Liz hissed under her breath. "Was he . . ."

"Oh, yeah, doll, they were watchin' us."

If the demon who wanted her dead decided to show up to put a bullet in her brain, she wouldn't have been too unhappy about it. Then came the realization that if they had been watching, then the son of a bitch had waited just before she reached a climax to interrupt them. Her face burned with humiliation and smoldering fury.

"Here," Angel Dust thrust a tissue into her hand. He was wiping his hand clean on a tissue that he tossed into the bin. "Clean ya self up."

Might as well as it felt slippery between her legs when she moved. With her back to the mouth of the alley, she lifted the front of her skirt and gave herself a few swipes. There was s blood on the tissue, likely from when Angel Dust had nicked her with his nails. 

"Should we run?" she whispered over her shoulder as she tugged her skirt down into place. 

"Naw, they don't wanna hurt us for now and it'll take too long t' toss yer ass over the fence. Let's see what they want."

She quickly donned the mask she had folded away in her purse and slipped on her shoes, which Angel Dust had brought along during her flight after Young-ho. They approached the car, and as they drew close, the door swung open to reveal the warm, roomy interior.

Seviathan motioning them inside with a wave of his hand. "The Radio Demon has changed our plans for the evening so we're having a private party at my father's manor. You're invited."

_ More like being kidnapped _ , Liz thought as she noticed that the limo was conveniently blocking the mouth of the alley with the open door being the only way out. She took a chance, "What about the business you had in the club?"

Seviathan was insultingly surprised she spoke. Perhaps that was why he said without considering being cagey. "We can conduct our business at the party."

That had to mean Rathel was going to be at the party. With a glance at Angel Dust, she climbed into the limo. Shrugging, Angel Dust followed her inside. 

Kraken and Dagon were sitting side by side opposite Seviathan. Instantly, Dagon moved away from his brother, giving her an open invitation next to him. Might also play the part of the ugly girl getting the rare invite to an exclusive party by the popular boys. She took the open spot next to Dagon, who put an arm around her shoulders. Angel Dust played it cool next on the same seat as Sevithan but maintained an arms-length distance from the Von Eldritch. Was this the smart thing to do?

Well, it was too late now. This was happening, and hopefully, it'll end with them finally finding Rathel.

She sent a quick text to Marty, turning her back to Dagon for a moment to keep him from reading over her shoulder.  _ We are still fine. We are going to a private party at the Von Eldritch manor. Rathel may be there.  _

There was almost a full minute wait before she got a response.  _ Good job. Keep us up to date. _

Well, that was different from repeatedly telling her to be careful and stay away from the Von Eldritches. 

***

Which way did Lizzie go? Why was she running after the cat boy? And what the hell was Angel Dust doing in letting her run around like that? 

By the time Marty shoved through the crowd, Lizzie and Angel Dust were gone, and he had no idea which way they went. Dammit, he should have taken his phone with him so he could call and demand where she was. Lights flashed from behind him, and he turned to see Shard driving up behind him. Marty stormed to the car with his ears laid and ripped open the door before it came to a complete stop.

"Get in," Shard barked before he could speak. "They're heading for the Von Eldritch manor."

"What the fuck?" Marty got inside and shut the door so quickly, he nearly smashed his tail. 

"She just called and told me," Shard said, handing over Marty's phone. "They got invited to a private party and Rathel may be there."

"Didn't you tell her it was too dangerous?"

"She was determined to go," Shard replied without looking at him, putting the car into drive. "I know where it is and we can wait outside while they . . ."

"No, I'm going in."

"You can't! It's a noble household. There'll be wards in place."

“If it's the one I'm thinking of, it's been empty for years so they'll be weak," Marty said. "And they're meant to keep powerful demons from sneaking in. They won't notice a mediocre guy like me if I go invisible."

"You need to wait and let them work the place first," Shard griped. "The Von Eldritch invited them, not kidnapped them."

"They are hellborn nobles. It's the same thing when it comes to them." He's wringing his hat between his hands, tail thumping between his legs like a panicked snake. "They don't respect Sinners on the best of days, so there's no telling what they'll do to a human."

"Most hellborn have never seen a human," Shard pointed out. "Especially these young bastards. She'll be fine. She can dance naked in front of them and they won't recognize her as a human."

Thunderstruck at the unwanted visual image, Shard's words conjured up, Marty cried, "Lizzie would  _ never  _ do anything like that!"

"Calm down and focus on what's important here. If they can get to Rathel, then you're in the clear with Tony Shark."

That wasn't important to Marty right now, and he wisely chose not to voice it. For the first time since he had met Shard, they didn't see eye to eye, and it irked him at how his partner refused to see it from his perspective. And it was pissing him off that he was so willing to put Lizzie in harm's way for gain. The first thing was they needed to get to the manor as soon as possible. 

***

If there was one thing the Von Eldritches did that impressed Liz was how quickly could put together a party. 

When they arrived at the manor, which looked more in place with a Lovecraft horror story with enormous tentacles coiled around the house as if to drag it into the depths of nightmares. Cars were lined up outside, and guests were being shown inside by stewards in black uniforms. Being in the party's hosts' limo, they went around behind the manor where a servant was waiting to escort them inside. Liz stayed quiet but watchful for signs of trouble or concern. They weren't being forced, but the inclination was there that it was better to go along with them than not to. 

For a house that hadn't been lived in for a while, it was quite lively now. People were crowding into the main den, grouping together with friends or cliques. Liz tried not to stare openly, but it was difficult not to as the party-goers were demons of all shapes and sizes. A woman in a sheer dress sported a pair of bat-like wings that stretched behind her as she yawned. An orange skin man was juggling fireballs between his hands to entertain a group of women with horns and more than or less than two eyes. They all wore finery of elegant dressers and finely pressed suits with a myriad of jewelry and finery.

This place was fancier than the nightclub, and Liz felt really out of place in it. Not only because she was human, but her simple clothing wasn't up to par with theirs. Angel Dust fitted right in with his dress and style and played the part of belonging with deft skill. He walked close to Seviathan, wearing the Von Eldritch arm around his shoulders as if it was part of his outfit. 

She walked with her arm linked through Dagon's, who was courteous enough to fetch her a glass from a server's tray as they passed. The wine was smooth and rolled down her throat as she swallowed it. It made her calm and thoughtful as she surveyed the room. Was Rathel among the guests? And how would she recognize him? Somehow, she could see Hartley in the eyes of the rat demon back in the mill. Would she see Rathel and recognize him too? Or was he so changed that she wouldn't know him anymore?

The Von Eldritches' would know him, but how to find out from them without giving herself away? The only one that she felt confident to ask was Dagon, but he seemed content to hang around his brother and cousin while plying her with drinks and his company. 

She decided that he wasn't a bad guy. Just overshadowed by the more dominant Seviathan and Kraken. He was polite with her, and though he was a little too much in her personal space, he kept his hands to himself. It was like he was afraid that if he wasn't almost on top of her with his presence, she'd fade into the crowd. Maybe that had happened to him too often not to take precautions.

They were in a lounge room blocked off from the other party where the Von Eldritches were treated like kings with Angel Dust and Liz served as arm candy. Liz was beginning to suspect that they were selected because Angel Dust is a renowned porn star, and she was considered a woman not out of Dagon's league. While she maintained a polite and friendly exchange with her date, Angel Dust was eating up his role by splaying across Seviathan's lap and helping himself to both drugs and alcohol.

She could only hope that he wouldn’t be too inebriated to help her if she needed it. 

There was no end to being regaled with stories from the Von Eldritches, mostly from Seviathan and Kraken, who never missed an opportunity to cast Dagon in a bad light. She wondered if this was their normal operation or perhaps it was because she was there as Dagon's 'date.' 

"There was this time that we sent Dorkon to Valentino to have his cherry popped," Leviathan said, casting a cruel eye at the miserable Dagon. 

The milky white eyes went wide, and a blue blush darkened his face. "Sea, you promised you wouldn't. . ."

"Shut up, Dorkon, don't interrupt when I'm talking," Seviathan snapped, a moment of fury crossing his face before it broke into a nasty grin. "As I was saying, we ordered him up a whore and told him they would be a feisty blonde. Was he ever in for a surprise . . ."

Liz had the feeling she knew how this story was going to end and didn't wish to hear the end of it. Not for her sake, but for Dagon, who was looking away from her with his head lowered. And they weren't getting anywhere by sitting here and listening to Seviathan and Kraken humiliate Dagon. 

"Dagon, I need to use the ladies room," she spoke loudly enough to cut off Seviathan's story, which earned her a narrowed look. She tilted her head like a dumb airhead with no clue, taking Dagon’s arm. "Will you show me to the bathroom, please?"

"Uh, sure! Come this way." Dagon rose as if shot from a canon and extended a hand to her, which she took. 

As he led her from the private room, she noticed Angel Dust, giving her an odd look. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring look despite having half her face hidden beneath a mask. 

As they passed through the main room, eyes watched them as they passed. Some were curious of the Von Eldritch and the small blue demon accompanying him. Liz ignored the stares and tried to walk gracefully in her stilettos despite the ache in her cut heel. She walked on the balls of her shoes up the stairs to give her injury some respite. It wasn't until they arrived at the top of the stairs that she realized the implication Dagon might see in her drawing him away from the others. That this was a bid to get him alone so they could share an intimate moment. What was she supposed to do if that's his expectation?

Thus far, he had been a perfect gentleman, but she had seen cases where a man's public face is much different than the one he has in private. Especially for entitled young men as the Von Eldritches' have presented themselves. Her suspicions weren't dampened much when he took her to a bedroom.

"There should be a bathroom in there." Dagon stood aside to let her in and made no sign of following her inside. "I'll wait out here."

"Oh, uh, thank you." Guilt gnawed at her as she went inside. 

It made sense to be suspicious. She was in Hell after all, and Dagon was a demon Hellborn. However, it didn't ease her guilt. 

She did use the bathroom to freshen up her makeup and make sure the blue body powder didn't smear or rub off around the mask. And she took this opportunity to take off her stocking and wash her heel in the tub. The cut was smaller than she had thought. There was no first aid anywhere in the bathroom save for unlabeled drug containers and beauty products. Taking a wad of tissue paper, she put in the shoe to give the injury some cushioning and relieving some of the pain of walking on it. 

With that taken care of, she decided on a plan to get Dagon to talk about Rathel. If she could get him talking, maybe he would let something slip, but to get him to talk, she would have to keep him away from Seviathan and Kraken, the dominant bastards of the group.

He was waiting outside as he promised. It was almost saddening at how he brightened when she came out. "Do you want to go outside?"

Well, that solved a problem for her. "Sure."

"There's a garden outback. It's fenced in so it's safe and private."

Private as in they wouldn't be disturbed or private as in no one can hear her screaming and struggling? No, stop it. There was no sense in being so suspicious. Yet, how many stories had she heard stories like this from rape victims?  _ He was so nice. I never thought he would do that to me.  _

She felt the weight of the angel weapon in her purse and sank her hand into the bag to squeeze the handle. If Dagon tried to do anything she didn't want, then she could protect herself. 

***

"Hey! Watch it!" 

"Someone stepped on my foot!"

"It wasn't me!"

"Yes, it was! There isn't anyone else around!"

Marty searched the party but couldn't find his daughter or Angel Dust. Were they being held somewhere else? This was the right house party, wasn't it? It definitely had the Von Eldritch ocean stink in it.

He'd have to risk opening doors to see if they were in these rooms. Next would be upstairs and then maybe . . .

"Do you see Rathel anywhere?"

He froze in place, his ears swiveling towards the source of the voice. It was from a couple who were wearing matching white outfits. The woman wore a gown with a square-cut bodice that showed off bountiful breasts. Her partner was a man in a white suit with spiral horns that hung over his ears. 

"No, but I heard he would be here."

Did they know Rathel? Marty drew closer while keeping his distance so they couldn't sense his presence. 

"I know he's here. I just now received a text message from him just now." The woman was holding a hellphone with a white case and was thumbing a message. "He said he's currently busy with other clients, but will text us once he's ready to see us."

"He has some cheek. Conducting business in the home of the Von Eldritches," the man scoffed.

"He's in good with them from what I've heard," the woman whispered mirthfully. "Let's enjoy the party until he calls for us. I’m rather parched."

He was being torn in two. Rathel was a text message away while Lizzie was still missing somewhere in this house. Could he afford to lose Lizzie to find Rathel or the other way around? He still had his phone with him, and he could drop his camouflage to check his phone for any messages from her. 

What was he supposed to do? 


	17. Arc 3: Finding Rathel - Rathel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz finally meets Rathel, but the confrontation doesn't go as planned.

The Von Eldritch garden wasn't what Liz was expecting for a garden in Hell. The benches and tables were shaped from sandstone and shells with crustacean styled legs. The garden’s flora reminded her of underwater plants, but with exotic flowers blooming from the wavy stems. Some of the flowers resemble orchids and lilies among a dire crop of larger than typical thorns. 

She was perched on the edge of a sandstone bench cradling a champagne glass between her hands and watching Dagon drain his scotch in one deep gulp. Taking a deep breath, he set the glass down on the bench near his knee and muttered, "I hate them."

Looking through the champagne that colored the world in a hellish red, Liz let him vent and listened with a sympathetic ear. 

"We used to play here together, ya know. There weren't a lot of Hellborn kids back then so we only had each other as playmates. They weren't such fuckers back then."

"What changed?" 

"I don't know. We got older, I guess."

Liz took a slow sip of champagne, taking this moment to think carefully before speaking. "If they are so toxic towards you, then why are you hanging out with them?"

"They're family."

"Right, but being family doesn't grant them permission to treat you like that. Is there a reason why you came out with them tonight?"

Dagon didn't seem uncomfortable sharing that information. "Sea is trying to buy information from a broker."

"Rathel?" Liz lowered her eyes to hide her excitement. 

"Yeah, that's the guy. For someone who's been in Hell for a few years, he's pretty good at gathering and selling information to nobility and anyone who can afford his prices."

So unlike Hartly, who lived as a hermit, Rathel had made a name for himself in the short years he had been down here. And if he was making money as Dagon was describing, then he was more likely to afford the hit on her than Hartley ever could. If he was the one who wanted her dead, and if he realized she was here and alive . . .

No, she needed to see him so she could recognize him. There wouldn't be a confrontation tonight; it would come later under safer circumstances. Until then, she needed to figure out a way to get that glimpse of him without him recognizing her. 

And how can she use Dagon to accomplish this?

The thought of it rankled her as she was growing fond of the Von Eldritch. He was actually an okay person when you got him away from the others, which she sadly saw too often in troubled teens and young adults who were influenced by toxic peers.

"Let's not go back to Sea and the others," Liz said, coming up with a way to help Dagon while looking for Rathel. "Show me around, please?"

"Sure, I think I'd like that."

***

Marty was getting antsy following the couple around. Each time the woman glanced at her phone, he hoped it was finally Rathel telling them to meet with him, but she only laughed at whatever silly thing was sent to her through social media. Fuck. And where was Lizzie?

From the corner of his eye, he spied Angel Dust, helping himself to a glass of champagne, looking pretty and pink. And there was no Lizzie with him!

Forgetting the couple, Marty hurried over, pushing aside confused patrons as he cut through the crowd towards the spider. Once he was within reach, he snagged Angel Dust's upper arm and hauled him along, causing his drink to spill.

"What the fuck!?"

"Shush, it's me," Marty whispered in a low voice. "Where’s Lizzie?"

"I dunno, I'm out here lookin' for her. Hadda wrestle myself away from Seaviathan and his crummy cousin to come out here and look for her."

"And help yourself to a drink?" Marty didn't bother to keep the accusation from his voice.

"Hey! I'm blendin' in and now I'm gettin' funny looks from the guests. Liz is somewhere with Dagon."

"Who the fuck is Dagon?"

"A Von Eldritch who got the hots for her. It was her idea. Couldn't stop her."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Marty hissed.

He noticed the couple he had been tailing from across the room, leaving the party with a purpose. Rathel must have summoned them. 

Taking Angel by the arm, he followed them. "I can't text without dropping my camouflage so you’re going to do it. Text Lizzie and tell her that we're on our way to find Rathel." 

***

The place was bigger than she could have imagined. There was a ballroom, a huge dining room, enough bedrooms for a hotel, and countless dens and drawing rooms. There had to be some sort of magic or spatial manipulation in place to allow for this. And that made her task all the more daunting as Rathel could be anywhere.

They occasionally came across a servant or a couple that left the main party for privacy or a group to share in potent drugs they didn't wish to share with the party. There were invitations for them to join, to partake in drugs, or engage in sexual acts, which was politely, and sometimes firmly refused. 

When her phone began buzzing, she checked it.

**Angel** : With your Pops and we're going after Rathel.

**Angel** : Somewhere on the second floor. Meet us.

"I . . .I got a text that Rathel is on the second floor," Liz said, catching Dagon's wrist. 

"Rathel . . .yeah, I think I might know where he is. . .you want to see him?"

The unspoken question was if Seaviathan and Krakon were going to be there. 

"I think it's just him. He's been looking for me." And that was the truth if she thought about it. Angel would be looking for her with Dad, and how did he get inside the party? He must have snuck in while invisible to protect her. "Could we meet him wherever Rathel is?"

"Uh, sure, it's this way."

***

Rathel had set up shop in a library on the second floor of the Von Eldritch manor. As Dagon led her to her the hall where the library lay, a couple in matching white outfits were waiting outside, looking exasperated at having to wait. 

Liz let Dagon take the lead, and upon seeing him, the couple straightened to attention with courteous smiles for the Von Eldritch among them. Dagon ignored them, went to the door of the library, and knocked on it.

A blue demon stuck his head outside with a scowl that disappeared upon recognizing Dagon. "Well, hello, Mr. Von Eldritch. Mr. Rathel will be with you as soon as possible."

"Of course. I don't expect our wait to be long," Dagon replied with a meaningful look. 

"Of course not, sir," the demon gave him a grin, which didn't reach his eyes. 

At the end of the hall, Angel Dust was walking toward them at a strange gait behind the couple. He looked annoyed and kept walking with one foot back as if struggling against … an invisible force. 

_ Oh, Dad!  _

She pulled out her phone and texted Angel.

**Liz** : Tell Dad to calm down. I'm fine. 

Angel looked down when the phone buzzed and nodded. Pretending he was reading a long text, he held it out for unseen eyes to read. Then after a moment, he thumbed another message back. 

**Angel** : He wants you to leave the building now. 

**Liz** : Tell him I can't. Rathel is on the other side of this door, and Dagon can get me in. 

**Angel** : No. Too dangerous. 

**Liz** : It's the only way. 

**Angel** : He hired I.M.P to kill you!!!!!!

**Liz** : We won't know that for sure until we confront him. And he'll think I'm already dead! I'm going in to introduce myself and see what he does. 

**Angel** : Not alone!

By this point, Angel has joined them. Dragon's brows rose in surprise at seeing the pink spider. "Seviathan didn't bring you?"

"Nah, just snuck away t' find Liz here." Angel twitched an upper arm out of an unseen grasp and adjusted his hair and chest puff. "So is there a party in there or somethin'?"

Before anyone could respond, the blue demon stuck his head out the door with a polite smile. "Mr. Von Eldritch, Rathel is ready for you now."

Liz made a point to take one of Angel Dust's hands while taking Dagon's arm. "Let's go see him."

She could feel Marty so close behind her, the front of his shirt brushed her shoulders. Now she felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, walking arm in arm with the Lion, Scarecrow, and Tin Man to see the Wizard.

***

Rathel became a thin demon with a long squirrel-like tail bobbing behind him in an S-shape. His short fur was a dark brown with white bands along his arms and tail. Small tuft ears angled back from his face as he shifted through the pages of a thick folder. When the three of them approached the desk where he held court, he raised dark eyes and gave each of them a curious look.

Liz drew in a sudden breath. She had met Rathel a handful of times before she discovered the embezzlement, and after that, while building a case against him, she had seen his picture in profiles and dossiers. He was completely different now, but she recognized him as she did Hartley. It was there in how he carried himself, moved his hands, and looked at them. Was it some sort of thing in Hell? That you can recognize people from Life?

"Yes, Von Eldritch . . .Did young Seviathan send you alone?" As he spoke, his eyes began with Dagon, over her, paused on Angel Dust, then back to her, then returned to Dagon.

_ Look at me, you sonuvbitch! See me! _

A low ember of simmering anger grew into a flame of fury. This asshole sent imps into her house to kill her! Made her go through that murder mill and run for her life from killer robots! And caused all the humiliation she endured tonight! 

Dagon was speaking, but she couldn't hear him. She was too intent on Rathel, who noticed the intensity of her glare. His gaze met hers, and he inclined his head in a polite but irritated manner.

"Do we know each other?"

"Yeah . . . we do, Timothy James Rathel," Liz said, unhooking her mask from her face. 

A sudden tension came over Rathel's goons, all large demons, as they all zeroed in on her for a potential threat. If she made a move, went for her purse or a weapon, they would be on her within seconds. 

There was puzzlement in Rathel's face, then his eyes focused on her and slowly widened. "Holy shit . . .why are you down here?"

"I died, asshole! A few imps came into my apartment and fucking killed me."

"Jesus Christ . . ." Rathel said, amazed. "Brenda Cook. . .I don't understand. You were a sweetheart . . .you baked cakes for everyone’s birthdays!"

There was a beat of nonplussed confusion, not just for her but also for everyone in the room. Liz blinked and shook her head. "No! I'm not Brenda!"

"Oh . . .Shirley Smith? You always had a bitchy attitude."

"No! I'm not Shirley Smith either and . . .yeah, she was a bitch."

Rathel had his head tilted back, searching his memory as his tail twitched behind him. "Donna?"

"I'm Elizabeth Carter!"

"Who?"

"You know . . .Liz?"

This awarded her a blink from Rathel. "Who?"

"You got to be fuckin' kidding me! You don't know me!?" She stormed to the desk, ignoring a demon coming around to halt her with a firm grip on her shoulder. "I'm the one that caught you embezzling from a charity! You do remember that, don't you?"

Rathel blinked again, then shrugged. "That was you? Small world down here, I guess." 

She had expected wrath, gloating, and even another attempt at revenge. Not this! Not this offhand acknowledgment. No . . .not after everything she went through tonight. It was as if the floor had fallen out from beneath her. 

"W-w-wait . . ." Suddenly, Rathel was sitting up, leaning forward across the desk to get a closer look at her. "I think . . .yeah, I remember now."

"You . . .you do?" 

"The water cooler in the breakroom tipped over on you! You came into the meeting room soaked! Everyone could see your tits and that you were on the rag!"

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Liz moaned as laughter rippled across the library. Of all things to be brought up, it had to be that! 

"And you conducted the meeting as if nothing happened! You had balls for a woman." 

"Okay . . .yeah, that happened, but . . .you do realize . . . I'm the reason you killed yourself, right?"

"Aw, Liz," Rathel chuckled, grinning sharp teeth at her. "Always thinking everything revolves around you."

He rose and came around the desk, standing at close to seven feet tall. He wore a dress shirt with black suspenders hooked to black slacks. He peered down at her, not in a threatening looming way, but how an amused adult would perceive a child acting out. Liz refused to be cowed and crossed her arms, meeting his stare with a glare of her own.

"Yeah, you caught me, but because I got sloppy," Rathel explained. "I literally had other things on my mind. The doctors found an inoperable tumor eating up my brain. Said I had three months to live, and I was gonna go blind and cripple before it killed me, so I took the easy way out and ended up down here."

"Shit . . ." Liz breathed. "So your killing yourself had nothing to do with me?"

"Nope. Why? You think I was . . .holy shit . . ." Rathel gasped, eyes widening in utter delight. "You think I sent those imps! Is that why you're here? To confront me about it?"

He was laughing so hard, he had to lean against the desk for support. Liz hoped the makeup was thick enough on her face to cover the flush she felt rising to her cheeks. "So you didn't do it? You didn't hire I.M.P. to kill me?"

It was almost a solid minute before Rathel was able to speak coherently. Through a giggle, he managed, "What profit is in it for me to have you killed? Maybe if you were doing something to fuck up my business, but all my business is down here in Hell."

"Do you know who did?"

"No idea," Rathel said, calming down and brushing a tear from an eye. 

"Then I'm done here." Liz turned away, catching Angel and Dagon's looks.

Angel appeared amused by the whole show, and Dagon was staring at her intensely with an emotion she couldn't read . . .or didn't want to. Shit. 

"Nah, nah, Liz, don't leave yet. Let's catch up a little," Rathel said. "Tell me, how far down was I on your list."

"Goodbye, Rathel," Liz muttered, walking between Angel and Dagon, not meeting their eyes.

"What about Tony Marks? Did he die yet?"

Liz froze in mid-step. Every bone in her body turned to ice.

"If he did, then he'd number one suspect, wouldn't he? I mean . . .after what you did . . .”

"He's not dead and I had  _ nothing  _ to do with what happened to him," Liz said, glaring at Rathel over her shoulder. "But the asshole had it coming. Wouldn't you agree?"

Rathel shrugged, "Yeah, I suppose so, but his lawyer didn't deserve what you did to him and his family."

"I had nothing to do with that, either," Liz said coldly. 

"Oh really? So you weren't responsible for having his in-laws deported, having his kids kicked out of their fancy school, or his wife finding out about his affair?"

Drawing a deep breath, Liz felt the fury building up inside her, and as she spoke, the words dripped with venom. "I have done  _ nothing  _ wrong."


	18. Arc 3: Finding Rathel - End of a Rough Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz and Angel manage to get away from the Von Eldritchs, but not without some danger.

The doors closed behind Liz and her companions. Rathel inclined his head with an amused smirk, clearly enjoying that more than he would have thought. Liz had been a handsome woman from what he recalled, and she didn't seem much different as a demon. It must have galvanized her to find herself resurrected in Hell of all places. 

Oh well, back to work. 

He turned back to the desk, where he kept his records and blinked. "Where the fuck did my books go?"

Then suddenly, the door opened and closed of its own accord, startling the couple waiting outside.

***

_ Sonuva-fucking-bitch! After everything . . .and it still wasn't him! _

He could have been lying, but why lie about it? Rathel wasn’t faking it when he didn’t recognize her. In fact, he was actually happy to see her when he did finally realize who she was. His laugh peppered her like tiny rocks thrown at her. 

There was a touch on her arm, gentle and cool. She paused, knowing she had to answer for something, no matter how awkward it would be. "Yes, Dagon?"

"May we talk?"

"Sure . . .but can you tell Angel where the backdoor exit is? We have to go and we don't want your cousin or brother stopping us."

"Right, yes," Dagon said. "There's a servant's exit on the first floor. Go down the hall and take the stairs all the way down, then head right, straight down the hall and cut through the kitchens. There’s a back door that will take you outside."

"Thanks. Angel, go ahead and . . .tell my Dad I'll be along shortly if you see him . . .or meet him . . .whatever." Liz took a glance around in the off chance she would see something of her father.

"Yeah, toots, sure. Don't take too long," Angel said, sifting through his purse for cigarettes and a lighter as he headed off.

Dagon led her into a private lounge room. How many bedrooms, studies, and lounges did one mansion need?

Maybe it wasn't smart to go into a room alone with Dagon, or perhaps she owed him that and just didn't care anymore about her own safety. Then again, he was a good guy for someone born in Hell. However, that could be presumptuous of her to assume that everyone born in Hell were bad people. Seviathan and Kraken were assholes, to be sure, but they were no different than the entitled human asshole sons of wealthy parents who didn't think anything of forcing others to go along with them. 

"You could have told me you were looking for Rathel," Dagon said after closing the door behind them. "I wouldn't have wasted your time with a tour . . ."

"No, I enjoyed the tour . . .I needed to see Rathel for . . . well, it was for private reasons and . . .I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I'm not hurt. I was expecting this in a way."

"Look, I wasn't put up to this by anyone . . ."

"I know." He wasn’t meeting her eyes, his milky eyes darken with resignation. 

Guilt lay heavy on her. Damn, she owed him something more than just a talk like this. He did help her after all without expecting nor pressuring her anything in return. The least she could do was give him something good to remember. 

"Come here," she said, taking his hand and leading him towards the couch.

***

By the time Marty left the library with Rathel's records tucked away in his coat, Lizzie and Angel had disappeared with the Von Eldritch. A text from Angel said he and Lizzie were on their way out, and he could meet them behind the manor. Well, better to leave the way he came before he got lost. He retreaded his way through the manor, between the partiers, and out the front door as it opened to allow more guests inside. It wasn't a long walk to where Shard had parked the car.

Without ceremony, Marty materialized, opened the door, and threw what he had stolen from Rathel at him. Shard yelped in shock as the papers scattered, and he was thumped on the nose by a heavy book. 

"There!" Marty said, slinging himself into the driver's seat. "That should be enough to satisfy Tony Shark!"

"What the fuck is all this?" Shard fumbled with the pages, unable to make sense of it.

"I stole that from under Rathel's nose," Marty replied. "His records, information gathering, and names. Not sure what Tony Shark will get from that, but it should be a lot."

Gathering up the material into a single thick stack, Shard nodded, "I think he'll be pleased with this."

"Good. Then I want more time with Lizzie. At least a week off duty so I can help her."

"Jesus and Satan, Marty, lissen t' yourself," Shard gave him a soured look. "Tony Shark's gonna reward you for this, but you're gonna need work to earn money. You blew it all on that slut . . ."

"Which fuckin' paid off in the end! Angel kept Lizzie safe and we got the information Tony Shark's so hard for," Marty snapped. "You let me worry about me, okay?" Marty leaned forward towards Shard until they were nose to nose. "From now on, you leave Lizzie out of any jobs. Got it? We only did this because our goals aligned with Tony's."

Drawing back until his head touched the window, Shard nodded. "Alright. Whatever you say. Lizzie is off limits."

"You're goddamn straight. Angel and Lizzie are leaving through the backdoor and we're going to pick them up."

"Ya sure they don't wanna stay and party longer?" Shard muttered. "Not everyday anyone can attend a noble's party. Do some drugs, drink some beers, get high, and get laid?"

"No, Lizzie wouldn't be into any of that. She's a good girl."

***

His skin was cool to the touch, and smooth, reminding her of the time she petted dolphins at an ocean park when she was a teenager. He was eager, but nervous, his hands clumsy, pinching her sometimes and his mouth tasted of wine and salt water. 

"It's okay . . .we'll go slow until you’re ready."

"I think . . .I think I'm ready now."

"Alright."

The skirt hiked up over her hips, and the black thong was down below her knees. She didn't bother putting makeup around her pelvic area because who was supposed to see that? Thankfully, Dagon's eyes were on her face, and he would find no strange blue smears on his body afterward. 

She drew him down atop of her, his shirt opened, and slid her arms around his shoulders, touching the smooth green skin. Adjusting her body against his, she waited patiently, feeling the probing between her thighs. Liz sighed as he eased himself inside and moaning in some language she couldn’t possibly recognize nor understand. 

“Are . . .are you okay?” He asked her, his arms tightening around her, then relaxing as if fearful of hurting her.

“I’m fine.” She shifted slightly, adjusting her body to his. “Go ahead.” A few hard thrusts that made her wince. "No, no, go easy . . . it's not a race."

"S-sorry."

“It’s alright, just take it slow for right now . . .yes, just like that. Just . . .like . . .that.” 

It wasn't the best sex she ever had, but there was something pleasurable in teaching a virgin to be a considerate lover. Hopefully, some girl or guy out there will appreciate her efforts. 

When collapsed atop of her, she held him for a few minutes, letting him bask in the afterglow a bit before she gently coaxed him off her. Standing, she tugged her underwear and skirt back into place. Dagon’s chest rose and fell as he pulled up his pants and put his clothing back in order. 

"I love you."

His words startled her, but didn’t come as a surprise. Doubtless, he was inexperienced with women, or partners to tell the difference between genuine love and infatuation.

"No, Dagon, you don't love me. You're attracted to me, but you don't love me," Liz said kindly and firmly. 

"Will . . .will I see you again?"

"I . . .no, I don't think so." He deserved honesty from her; after she had used him and shared something special with him. "I promise you, there's someone out there for you, but you're not going to find them if you keep hanging out those assholes. Hang out with people that make you happy, okay?"

"O-okay," Dagon leaned back on the couch, his clothes ruffled and seemed to need time to process.

Hopefully, he'll take her words to heart and take care of himself. If this was Earth, she would check up on him later and even recommend him to a therapist. Well, actually, if this was Earth, she wouldn't have had sex with him in the first place as it would be a massive breach of confidentiality and code of conduct.

“Goodbye, Dagon.”

“Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

She exited the lounge and remembered his directions of going through the backway. However, someone was standing down the hall waiting for her. It should have come as no surprise to see Seviathan leaning against the wall and giving her a mocking smile.

"Hello," she said, taking care to give him a wide berth in the hall. It scared her to be alone with him - without Dagon, Angel, or her father to act as a buffer between her and other demons, but she refused to let him know that. 

"So, did you have to point out the correct hole or did you not care which one it went in?" 

Her breath caught in her throat, and before she could stop herself, she turned around to glare, which was precisely what he wanted. Laughing at her, he crossed the short distance between them in a casual saunter. She stood her ground, refusing to take a step back to reveal how afraid she was of him. 

"Do you make it a habit to spy on people's intimate moments?" She asked, recalling what happened in the alley. "Or is it just me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Sinner." Seviathan chuckled, haughtily. “Alright, good job on popping Dorkon’s cherry. It’s about time he became a man."

_ Just walk away. Don't rise to the bait because that's what he wants.  _

"I'm leaving now," Liz said, not trusting herself to say anymore.

Before she could turn away, Seviathan pulled out a wad of cash from his coat. "Without compensation?"

"What?"

You showed my cousin a good time," Seviathan rolled his eyes as if she should know how this went. "I think a few thousand dollars should be more than enough to pay for your time."

Seeing the cash reminded her of the money Marty handed over to Angel to pay for him to watch over her. He had spent so much for her sake, and this money would pay him back for everything he's gone through for her sake. The image of his body impaled on rebar was still fresh on her mind, and she could still smell the coppery blood wafting off his clothes.

Seviathan smirked as he handed the cash to her and the money felt heavy in her hand. This was more than enough to cover what Marty paid to Angel Dust and make her less of a burden to him. And the Von Eldritch was just giving it to her . . .

To make Dagon's life miserable. No, this wasn't her, and she'll be damned before she allowed anyone to use her like this.

"His name is Dagon, not Dorkon," she said with steel in her voice. "Take this and buy some fucking integrity, you perverted asshole."

She could have just dropped the cash on the floor, but her anger got the better of her. The wad of money burst into fluttering bills when it hit his face, and his shocked expression brought her so much pleasure it was worth it. Turning on her heel, she walked away at a calm pace. She was not running away, she told herself. She was just done with being in his presence.

"Oh, you're going to pay for that, bitch."

She glanced over her shoulder. He wasn't pursuing her, just watching her with a menacing gleam in his vibrant red eyes and sinister green smile. She ignored the chill in her spine as she walked away, again not running away, refusing to give him that.

***

Liz made it outside unhindered or unmolested. She drew some odd looks from the kitchen staff as she strolled through. It was odd to see food she didn't recognize being cooked, but she didn't dare to stop or slow to sate her curiosity. 

Opening the backdoor revealed Angel Dust sitting on the bottom step smoking. He glanced at her and wrinkled his' nose?' at her. "So . . .how was it?"

"How was what?" 

"Popping that Von Eldritch's cherry?"

“My god . . .how do you . . .? Was there a goddamn camera in there?" 

"You felt sorry for the guy, doll," Angel explained. "And he had the hots for you since the Midnight Song. Plus, your dress is wrinkled around the waist and skirt."

"Oh!" She tugged the skirt down her thighs and smoothed it with both hands. "Well . . .I felt . . .I didn't like how I used him."

"Ya don't have t' explain it to me, doll," Angel replied with a shrug of his upper arms. "Marty is comin' around with the car."

"Good, I'm ready to get out of here."

She sat down beside him, slipping her shoes off to give her aching feet a break. Rubbing the sole of one, she grimaced at the torn holes at the toes where she tried to climb the fence to follow Young-ho. 

"So it wasn't him?"

"No, it wasn't Rathel," Liz sighed. "I'm sorry. Tonight was all for nothing."

"Nah, I still got paid for my time," Angel Dust stretched his upper arms above his head. "That whole thing with Rathel . . .ya wanna talk about it?"

"No," Liz shook her head. "I rather not."

"Sure," Angel lowered his arms and yawned. "Hope they get here soon. I'm beat."

"Me too." Liz wondered what time it was. It had to be after midnight by now and the thought of Marty's bed sounded good. She may just flop down and go to sleep in dress and makeup and all.

There were the sounds of shoes crunching on gravel. Liz looked up, expecting it to be Marty and Shard. However, Angel's body went tense, and he sat up, eyes narrowing. 

"Doll, go back inside."

"What?"

"Go. Back. Inside." He rose to his feet, brushing out his skirt and his upper hands clenched as if gearing for a fight. 

She got to her feet, not bothering putting on her shoes. If she needed to run, she could run faster without them. The door handle wouldn't turn in her hand. "Angel, it's locked."

"Fuck," he hissed. "Stay behind me and text your pops. Tell him t' hurry."

Her fingers brushed the handle of the angel blade as she dug out her phone. It made her feel safe and queasy to have it, but could she use it? Should she hand it to Angel Dust? Her father told her not to let anyone know she had it.

By the time she thumbed a message to Marty, three demons had come around the corner. All tall and broad with thick bodies and malicious grins. They were wearing street clothes with jeans and padded jackets that seemed a touch out of date. 

"Youse guys lost?" Angel asked in a neutral tone. "Ya go to the party through the front." 

"We're about to have our own party," the leading tough, a massive demon with a v-shape brow which went up into large bull horns. "Mr. Von Eldritch ain't happy with the blue chick so we're gonna teach ‘er a lesson in manners."

"Oh, fuck," Liz moaned, recalling Seviathan's threat. 

Angel only spared her a brief glance, likely wondering what the hell else she did other than fuck a Von Eldritch. "Sorry, this one is under Valentino's protection as a paid customer. Ya gonna hafta wait t' teach her any lessons."

"We don't give a fuck about some goddamn Sinner pimp," one of the tough sneered. "Ya best get outta way before we pull them twig arms offa ya."

Where was Marty? How long did it take to get here? She wanted to check her phone, but she didn't dare take her eyes off the demons. They were staring at her like hungry dogs eyeing a piece of raw meat. Her heart leaped into her throat as she knew exactly what they intended to do to her, and if they didn't outright kill her, she'd wish they did.

"Ain't gonna warn ya again," Angel said, still not backing down. Whether it was for his pride or her sake, she didn't know, but she was grateful for it. "Back the fuck off before your night gets ugly."

"Fuck you, bitch," one of the demons snarled, coming forward to shove his snout into Angel's face.

With him being distracted, the third demon took this opportunity to sucker punch him in the face. Liz shrieked as Angel went down with a pained grunt. She backed up until her spine hit the door, her other hand reaching into her purse for the angel blade. 

As the leading demon reached for her, Angel surged upward, leaping to his feet and grabbing Liz's forgotten stilettos. Swinging the shoes above his head, Angel jammed the long thin heels into the horned demon's eyes. Blood and eye jelly seeped down the screaming demon's face as he stumbled backward, arms swinging wildly and catching one of his compatriots across the face. 

"Good Satan, Gerald! Calm the fuck down!" the second demon growled. "Your eyes will grow back. We'll save some of the bitch's cunt for you when we're done with her."

"My, my, such foul language."

Everyone froze on the spot as the telltale sound of a gentle melody played with a slight static. All eyes went to the figure standing nearby, crimson appearing like a drop of blood in ink. 

"And to speak in such a fashion around a lady no less," the Radio Demon made a clicking sound with his tongue that came out as staticky sparks. "Perhaps you are the ones who should be taught manners."

If name dropping Valentino didn't scare them, the presence of the Radio Demon himself terrified them. One of the demons bolted, dashing into an alley. The blind demon, with Liz's shoes still stuck in his eye sockets, demanded to know what was going on, but his friend dragged him along by the arm.

And for his loyalty, they both got slammed when a car sped around a corner and smashed into them. The vehicle sped up seconds before impact, and the two demons were thrown down the street. Marty stuck his head out the window. "Get in!"

"Thanks, Smiles, but I coulda handled it!" Angel said, grabbing Liz's hand and tugged her along.

Maybe Marty and Shard would have arrived in time to save them. Or perhaps she could have been seriously hurt before they did. The Radio Demon was the reason why she didn't have to find out. She should offer some form of thanks, but she was just too unnerved to look at him, though she could feel his eyes on her. 

As the car belted down the street, she took a moment to look back through the window. The Radio Demon stood like a red monocle scarecrow watching them depart with that eerie smile etched across his face.

***

There was no question of where to go next. Shard dropped them off at Marty's apartment and, after exchanging a few words with his partner, left to deliver their findings to Tony Shark. Lizzie looked so tired that Marty didn't bother asking why she was walking without shoes.

He was tired himself, but he needed a drink and restock the fridge with what little money he had left. The pink spider demon was enjoying a cigarette when Marty approached him. "Rough night?'

"Ya got that right, Weeps," Angel replied.

"Was that . . .the Radio Demon?"

"Yeah, he's checking up on me," Angel rolled his eyes. "Miss a few therapy sessions at the hotel and they're breathin' down yer fuckin' neck." 

"So he wasn't there to hurt Lizzie?"

"Nah, if he wanted to then he would have done it already," Angel muttered. "He's got a bad rep, but he ain't so bad."

"And . . .how's Lizzie?" 

"She may look like a doll, but she's tough." Angel yawned and flicked the ash from the cigarette. "She'll be right as rain after a rest."

"Look, I . . .I need to go out for a few things . . .could ya . . .go up and be with her."

"Yeah, I'll watch her. I'm still on your clock."

"No, I mean . . .be 'with' her."

Blinking, Angel regarded with him a sudden interest. "Wait, wait, ya wanton' me t'. . .just so I understand . . .you want me t' go up and fuck -" at Marty's ears lowering, he quickly adjusted, "- show your daughter a good time?"

"If she wants to. Look, I'm her Dad and I'm not thrilled by the idea of you and her . . . together . . .but . . .she had a rough night and . . .I paid you for sex . . .so . . .can we please end this conversation now?"

"Yeah, sure," Angel dropped the cigarette and grounded it out under a boot.

"Text me when you're about to leave," Marty said, adjusting his hat. "I'm gonna be at the bar down the street."

"Want me t' wait til ya get here before I go?"

"Oh, no. I want you gone before I get back. Because if I see you, I might just deck you." At Angel's surprised look, he shrugged, "Hey, you're gonna be the guy that had sex with my daughter. It's a father thing."

***

Liz looked down at the blue water sloshing between her feet. It was satisfying to see it wash away like the night's traumas were going down with it. The Von Eldritch, the Radio Demon, Rathel, and the demon toughs were rolling off her back with the blue water, letting her feel clean and relieved. The makeup came off quickly but did take some scrubbing in a few places to get it off. Thankfully, she didn't have to apply makeup where she couldn't reach on her back. 

When she stepped out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around her waist and went into the bedroom . . .to see Angel Dust stretched out naked on the bed.

"Angel?" 

"Yeah, doll?"

"What are you . . .?"

"Sex is included in the package."

"Yeah, but we . . ."

"We didn't quite finish what happened in the alley."

“Right, but . . .what about . . .?”

"Weeps is cool with it."

"R-really?"

"Yeah, he's gonna be down at the bar while we have some . . .privacy."

“Okay . . .but . . .you’re gay.”

"Yeah, but I know how t' have sex with women."

"I'm not doubting that. It’s . . .well . . .are you okay with it?”

"Yeah, I'm okay with it. Ya paid for it . . ."

"But I don't. . .look, you shouldn't be . . ."

He sat up, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Baby, it's okay t' enjoy yaself a little. You're in Hell. Who are ya gonna impressed with the moral high ground around here?"

Who was she supposed to impress? Hell, little more than an hour ago, she was having sex with Dagon out of pity. Was that fair to him? Or to her?

The towel dropped on the floor as silently as her footsteps towards the bed. 


	19. Arc 4: Liz Alone - Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger: Explicit sex scene in this chapter

There was something to be said to how he frequented a bar enough that the bartender knew what to serve him just as he sat down. He paid for the beer and took a deep pull from it, thinking over everything Rathel said to Liz.

Who was Tony Marks? He may not have known Liz long, but even he could see her reaction to the name was not normal. She was defensive, even hostile towards Rathel when he brought up that name. If the joker wasn't dead, then he couldn't possibly be a suspect, could he?

Two down and one to go. Agnes Fuller, the woman who abused her foster kids - where does someone like that end up in Pentagram City? Hopefully, Shard or Arackniss will come through on the information.

And what if . . .what if it wasn't her? Liz had more names . . .

What line of work was she in to generate so many potential suspects? She was a social worker, but also a lawyer?

He signaled for another beer and made himself drink it slow to make it last. Funds were going to be in the red for the foreseeable future unless Tony Shark was generous enough to pay him for his time. Too much shit went wrong tonight. Too many times, Liz had a close call with the Von Eldritches, demon toughs in the alley, and the Radio Demon of all things. Tomorrow, they were going to take it easy. Take time to process and wait for news from Arackniss or Shard. 

Until then, he was going to let the booze lull him into a state of calm until he received a message from Angel that he was done fucking his daughter.

Aw, shit, now he needed another beer.

***

There was something to be said for having sex with a gay prostitute. Even if it was a furry, four-armed, spider demon. 

Whether it was out of professionalism or being gay, Angel was more attentive to her wants. He read her cues for what she enjoyed and didn't like and acted accordingly. There was plenty of communication throughout, but it was nice to be with someone that paid attention during intercourse. The sex was good and deeply satisfying. As she requested, Angel held her as she basked in the afterglow. Even though she was covered in sweat and hot, she still enjoyed feeling his fur on her skin. 

While he held her with two arms, his other two fetched a cigarette from a pack sitting on the bedstead. "Want one?"

"Nah, I'm good," she sighed, sliding an arm across his waist. 

"Gotta question for ya." Angel said, tossing the pack onto the bedstead. "Whatcha do t' piss off Von Eldritch? Fuck his cousin without fuckin' him too?"

"No, he wanted to pay me for having sex with Dagon, but I threw the money back at him." It wasn’t one of her proudest moments. Thinking of it now, she should have just dropped the money on the floor or handed it back to him without a word and walked away. 

Angel almost choked on his cigarette. "You . . .turned down money for sex . . .? Ya had sex with a fella . . .they offered t' pay ya for it . . .and ya said no."

"It wouldn't be right," Liz said, wondering why she had to explain this to Angel. "Seviathan was doing it to humiliate his cousin. I can see the shit telling Dagon they paid me to have sex with him."

"Somewhere out there," Angel said, looking up at the ceiling. "Valentino is pissed off and has no idea why."

"Well, he can get in line to kiss my ass along with the Krakon and Seviathan . . .and Rathel too." 

"Ha! Don't tell 'im that. . .he'll take ya up on that offer," Angel warned, touseling her hair. "Got another question for ya."

"Sure." She teased her fingers into his chest, puff. The fur was so deep and thick that it begged to be fondled.

"Ya gonna tell Weeps about your seizure?"

"I-I don't know. I know I should . . .but I don't want to." She laid her head against his shoulder, his question dampening her warm mood. 

"What happens if you have one and he doesn't know what's goin' on?"

"I don't know . . .I'm good for a few days, maybe a week or two."

She slid her hand down his chest and stomach as a means to distract herself from the uncomfortable topic. "Let me ask you a question. Why do you call my Dad Weeps? Is it a 30s or 40s slang?"

"Babe, do ya want me t' tell your pops that I watched you masturbate this morning? Or about the handjob in the alley?"

"Hmm, no?"

"A'right then."

***

In all the years Angel been a sex worker, he never had sex with both a father and a daughter . . .outside of an incestuous role play either on film or for a client. Liz and Marty both had similarities and tastes it would seem. They both enjoyed sensual foreplay and the slow build to a climax. 

Sitting on the bed to have one last cigarette, he let the human sleep, knowing it was way past time he made his leave. The night's events exhausted him, but he felt pretty good regardless. Charlie and Vaggie will try to do another surprise intervention, and those were never fun. Well, might as well head back.

A hand trailed down his back, stroking the fur there. She wasn't as asleep as he thought after all.

"Sorry, toots, your time's up."

"I know. Sorry."

He couldn’t stop himself from feeling a touch sad when the stroking stopped. It felt good to be fawned over and she was just like her father

Righthere. Marty had been a good client - never tried to ask for more than what he was paying for, nor did he ever get rough or derogatory with his words or actions. In the beginning it was a blowjob in an alley or sex in the backseat until Marty asked for how much an hour at his place would cost. He had blanched at the price but handed over the cash without argument.

The lizard wolf had been nervous like a teenager taking his crush out on a date. Marty even seemed embarrassed by the mess of his apartment, kicking beer bottles under the couch and coffee table as he cleared a spot on the couch.

"Ya wanna do this on the couch or the bedroom, baby?" Angel asked. "The clock’s started."

"Oh . . .yes, the bedroom."

Angel wisely paid no attention to the chained up armoire when Marty led him inside and helped him out of his coat. That night, Angel chose to wear a black dress and felt Marty's eyes on the nape of his neck and shoulders.

"Go ahead, sweetheart, unzip me," Angel encouraged. "We're on your dime. Do whatcha want."

With a hand on his shoulder, Marty unzipped the dress, which parted revealing a valley of soft pink fur. Hands and fingers kneaded the fur, along his spine, and down his arms. Marty stopped being nervous and acted upon his desires, kissing, stroking, and even nuzzling the spider's body as more of it was exposed. It felt good, almost comforting to be doted on. Angel sat on the bed as Marty knelt at his feet, drawing the dress off his legs and boots. Then fingers hooked his underwear, slowly pulling it down his thighs. Marty paused to kiss and lick Angel's inner thighs, just shy of his hardening cock. 

He paused. "Is . . .is this okay?"

"Sugar, it's your hour. Do whateva ya want."

Angel enjoyed the sensation of receiving a blowjob instead of being the giver. Marty was inexperienced, but eagerness to please made up for it. Angel almost came but was distracted when he noticed Marty unzipping one of his boots.

"Na-uh, sweetheart, the boots stay on. Unless ya wanna pay extra . . ."

"No, no, sorry. They can stay on." 

Then Marty moved to sit next to him, kissing him, stroking his chest and stomach. Angel responded to him as he would with a client's desires, but enjoyed this rare treat of being loved, even if it was just a pale facsimile of it. Many clients wanted to toss him on the bed and get to fucking with little to no foreplay. Others just ripped off his clothing, eager to get at his body. And the worst wanted to slap him around for a mock rape play. Very few wanted to play out romance or relationship tryst. 

Marty was such a gentleman that if the spider didn't take the lead, the hour would be wasted on fondling. Angel unbutton Marty's shirt, exposing smooth dark flesh, and undid the pants where the throbbing erection was forming a tent.

Marty fetched a bottle of lube from the bedstead and was generous with it. Angel sighed in pleasure as his body was prepared with gentle finger prods, covered in oil warmed between Marty's hands. He lay on his front, a pillow under his hips, his upper arms folded beneath him while his lower hands spread himself open to give Marty access. "Ready?"

"Uh, roll over. I . . .I want to do it face to face."

"Whateva ya want, sugar." 

With his legs hooked over Marty's hips, he relaxed his body for the lizard wolf's slow penetration. Slow, gentle thrusts were accompanied by caresses across his face and chest. Angle relaxed his body, happy to accommodate an easily pleased client.

When Marty climaxed, they laid together for the rest of the hour. Angel laid in Marty's arms while mentally counted down the time, then rose when the hour was up. "Sorry, babe, gotta get back out there. Unless you got more cash for another hour."

"Oh . . ." Marty blinked up at him, having almost fallen asleep. "Do you need to shower first? I can get you a beer?"

Angel had gone to the bathroom to clean himself up and let Marty help him dress. Valentino never said anything about charging a client for dressing a hoe, Angel supposed and took the beer on the go. Marty even saw him to the door, and Angel Dust gave him a deep kiss before leaving.

After that, it had been every other week that Angel went to Marty's apartment for an hour. They had it down to a routine with Marty undressing Angel, plenty of foreplay, and then sex though they tried different positions. It wasn't until . . . that one night when Marty stopped paying for Angel's time. 

Glancing at the sleeping human, no doubt asleep now, from her slow breathing and closed eyes, Angel remembered that night and dismissed it. It was none of his business anyway. Chances were he would never see Liz and Marty again, though he found himself wishing them the best in their mission.

He sent a text to Marty and left the apartment for the hotel.

***

Liz rose in the late hours of the morning and showered. She felt the night's events wash away like the blue makeup from her earlier shower. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she let the water beat off the sweat and other fluids from her body, the last remnant of her time with Angel Dust. 

_ Well, knock having sex with a pink spider demon off the list. _

And while she was at it, she might as well knock having sex with a Hellborn demon off the list too. Poor Dagon, hopefully, what she gave him will make him happy for a while. And he would take her advice to cut off ties with his toxic family.

As she dried herself, her thoughts went to other unhappy things. Rathel wasn't the one. That left Agnes Fuller, but chances were the list may have to be extended if it wasn't her. 

She dressed in a pair of comfy pants, which would have been skin tight on a taller demon, and a fuzzy pink sweater. Marty was sprawled across the couch asleep with his tail hanging over the arm of the sofa. She considered putting a blanket over him but recalled the only blankets were on the bed where she had sex with Angel Dust, and it was doubtful Marty wanted those sheets anywhere near him. 

Liz took this time to clean the apartment as quietly as she could. She bundled up the sheets from the bed to wash later, tidied up the kitchen area, collected the empty bottles of beer left behind when they plotted hunting Rathel at the Midnight Song and even wiped down the counters and table.

Then she made lunch. 

Marty opened his eyes, moaning as his hangover assailed his head. The alluring aroma of sizzling bacon drawing him from the couch.

Liz was laying out strips of cooked bacon on a plate and grinned at him over her shoulder. "Hungry? I can toast some bread if you want."

“That sounds good . . .we . . .we need to talk.”

"Yeah, I know." Her shoulders sag in resignation.

He took a beer from the fridge and caught a disapproval look from Liz. It was so much like her mother; it caught him off guard, and he set the bottle back inside. "I think I'll have . . .water?"

"It's fine. You can have a beer if you want."

"No, no, water is good."

They sat together at the table eating in silence, each not wanting to be the one to break the peace by talking about last night. However, they knew the topic of last night would have to be broach, and Liz was the one who did so first.

“Thanks for . . .well . . .Angel Dust.”

There was a slight tremor beneath Marty's eye. "I know from experience that he'd treat ya right."

"He did . . ."

"Alright, remember what I said on your first night here? How the last time I saw you was two years old and in diapers?"

"Oh, right. Sorry."

Marty tapped the edge of his water glass with a claw tip. "About what Rathel said . . ."

"You heard all of that?'

"Yeah, I was there. I stole his ledgers, records, or whatever by the way and gave them to Shard so that should make Tony Shark happy. Anyway, uh, what Rathel said about Tony Marks . . ."

Liz drew a deep breath through her nose and gave a long sigh. "I was kinda hoping you didn't. . .or wouldn't. . ."

"I am, because I want to know. Who is he?"

"He's not dead so he couldn't have hired I.M.P."

"That's not what I asked," Marty said, taking on a firmer tone with his daughter. "I want to know what happened between him and you?"

"Well, it was a court case . . ." Liz took a drink of water and licked her lips. "It's. . .not pleasant to talk about."

"We're in Hell, honey. I've had to overhear a lot of unpleasant things."

Liz gave him a sad look. "Alright, I tried to warn you. Tony Marks was a child rapist, and worse, he was a smart child rapist. He knew how to play the system, avert suspicion, and stalk his targets."

Pushing her plate away, losing her appetite, she continued, "He had a type. Blonde, blue eyed little girls no older than ten years old. I was investigating him for five cases that I know of, but I suspect there could be as many as dozen or more."

Marty breathed. "How does someone get away with that shit?"

"Like I said, he was smart and knew what he was doing," Liz replied, tiredly. "Used a condom, terrified his victims into compliance so they wouldn't fight back and there’d be no D.N.A. evidence linking him to the rapes. One day, though, he got sloppy. A witness saw him taking an eight year old into an alley."

"So did you get him then?"

"Almost," Liz sighed, sadly, pushing aside her plate. "I was so damn close . . .but his lawyer had the case thrown out. The witness was a known drug addict whose favorite high was hallucinogenic. The case was dismissed and Tony Marks walked out of that courtroom a grinning free man."

"But he ended up in a coma?" 

"Yeah. God must have got tired of the bullshit and took care of Tony Marks himself."

"What about what happened with his lawyer?"

Liz shook her head. "That's just a bunch of bullshit and rumors. The guy had a streak of bad luck and people think I had orchestrated it."

"Why would they think that?" Marty had a feeling there was more to the story. 

"Because of something I said to him in the heat of the moment," Liz looked away, embarrassed. "I'm not proud of it, but everyone heard me say it."

"Don't keep me in suspense. What the hell did you say to him?"

"Just a moment's context, please," Liz held up a hand to slow him down. "It happened after the judge dismissed the case. I spoke with the parents of the victim. They were . . .devastated is putting it mildly. A monster violated their child and the justice system let him get away with it. Their child's innocence was destroyed and even after years of therapy and care, she would never be the same happy kid again."

Marty saw the tears glistening in Liz's eyes. He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "Damn. I . . .I think I can imagine their pain. If that had ever happened to you . . ."

Liz squeezed his hand tightly, taking comfort in his physical touch. "Then I went to the courtroom to collect some records. His lawyer was still there cracking jokes with his colleagues. It . . .well, it . . .it fucking pissed me off. This guy helped the fucker who ruined a family walk away scot free and he's making dumb jokes."

"What happened?" Marty asked. 

"The lawyer guy . . .he said, 'It's okay to laugh, Carter. It's just a joke.' I guess he thought I was offended by the joke, but I don't even remember he was joking about. Anyway, I looked him dead in the eye in the eye and said, "I only laugh when I find something funny. Now, if you broke every goddamn bone in your body and caught on fire, then I would laugh myself to pieces."

"Shit," Marty muttered. He had heard far worse in Hell, but he could imagine the implications this would have had on Earth and Liz's profession. "What happened?"

"They all stared at me like I grew a second head. Then the lawyer had all kinds of problems and rumors spun up that I had something to do with it. By then, I had moved onto other clients, working on Swanhouse, and other charities."

"And you don't think has anything to do with I.M.P?"

She shook her head. "I don't see how. Everyone involved is still alive and those rumors have nothing to do with me. Losing a court case sucks, especially this one, but I knew what I was signing up for when I took up family service cases. We can't allow personal feelings to get in the way of our jobs and in that moment, I did. And I emailed an apology the next day."

"Alright, we won't talk about it anymore," Marty said with a nod. "It's not a lead so we'll just forget it. It's just Rathel being an ass."

Liz wiped away a tear and nodded. "Thanks, Dad."

***

They spent the rest of the day together. Liz put on blue makeup, and they went out to get the sheets washed at a nearby laundromat. While she waited with the clothes, he used what was left of his funds to buy something decent for dinner. 

That night, while she cooked, she asked, "So Dad, how did you meet Mom?"

"Well, you don't exactly meet someone you grew up knowing," Marty explained from where he was sitting at the table. "I've known her ever since we were kids on the playground, but I didn't actually start dating her until high school."

"Ooh, how did that start?" Liz asked as meat sizzled in a pan. She gave it a good stir, but her eyes were on Marty.

"At the Homecoming dance."

"You took her to Homecoming?"

"No," Marty lowered his eyes and gave her a mirthful smile. "I went there with another girl, but left with your mother."

"Oh! My! God!" Liz gasped. "Seriously!? What happened?"

"The girl I took to Homecoming and I were the school’s troublemakers. We cut class to smoke and smoke behind the bleachers, and just did everything short of killing somebody." Marty recalled that the girl had been blonde but couldn't remember much else about her. Not even her name. "It was pretty much a given by everyone that we were either going to marry each other. It was a question if it happened before or after I knocked her up. We had a complicated . . .well, you'd call it a toxic relationship now."

"Ouch. What about Mom?"

"Well, you know your grandmother. She was the girl who went to school wearing frumpy out of date clothes, had very few friends, and shy wallflower type. I barely noticed her save that she was the brightest girl in school. That night, for Homecoming, she used the money she saved from babysitting to buy herself a dress. It was red with sequins stitched on the front with lace hemming the skirt. One of her friends did her hair and make up and when she showed up at the dance, she blew everyone away. We all thought she was from next town over."

Marty remembered that night clearly. The second he saw Alice, he fell hard enough to crack the earth for her. He had never believed in love at first sight until that moment when Alice smiled at him for the first time. 

"After that, Alice and I were a couple."

"What about the other girl?"

"Well, there was some drama about it. She slashed my tires one time and yelled at Alice at school, but she shortly dropped out and left town. Several months after that, Alice and I left town too and got married. Then you came along."

After dinner, they spent the evening watching television together. At first, Liz found it strange that some of the shows were rip offs of sitcoms she grew up with. Family Matters was about a family trying to murder an annoying neighbor with a shrill voice. Full House was an imp father trying to pawn off his too many daughters. And there was the X-Rated version of Saved by the Bell.

Liz fell asleep with her head on Marty's lap, and his tail curled around her waist. The lizard wolf slept with his head tilted back and open mouth, emitting a light snore. It was the last peaceful night they would share for a long time. 

If they had been awake, they would have noticed the tv program, a twisted version of The Nanny with the caretaker trying to eat her charges, switched to static. Bright red eyes peered at them and a sinister grin stretched across the screen. When Liz woke up, she barely noticed the tv ad for Vogitrch as she switched it off. 

"C'mon, Dad, let's go to bed." Liz nudged Marty’s tail off her to wake him. 

He was in such a deep sleep, it took his tail being dropped unceremoniously into the floor to wake up. "You go, I'll sleep out here."

"C'mon, I've monopolized the bed since I got here. Let's sleep together."

"What!?" 

"Geeze, Dad, you know I don't mean . . .c' mon."

***

"What happened after your grandmother died?" 

Marty lay on his side, shirtless and wearing a comfortable pair of sweatpants, while Liz wore one of his shirts to sleep in. Even though she was a grown woman, he rubbed her back as he did when she was a baby having trouble sleeping.

Liz looked at him over her folded arms. "I already told you about grandma slipping on the steps. Mom found her out there, called 911 and they announced her dead on arrival, but we already knew she was dead since she wasn’t breathing and her eyes were open with that dead look."

"How did you mom take it?"

“I think she was a little sad,” Liz thought back to the forlorn look on her mother’s face when the paramedics took the body to the morgue. “But then I think she made herself feel sad because…you’re supposed to feel something when a parent dies, I guess.”

“Your grandmother didn’t make it easy,” Marty said recalling the last time he met the bitch. She had been passive aggressive if not outright insulting. Needless to say, she had been against them as a couple and threatened her door would be closed to Alice when she dared to run away with him. He wondered what Alice said and did when she returned home with a two year old. 

Lizzie continued her story. "Lucky for us, Grandma never wrote a will so everything went to Mom. The house, her stocks, the land, everything all went to Mom and she liquidated everything."

"How much did she get?"

Liz sighed with a pleased smile. "A lot. Grandma had been sitting on stocks for many, many years that she left untouched because in her eyes avarice is sinful. Mom even collected the life insurance money and paid only for a direct burial. The town was shocked that a 'beloved member' of the community was sent off without her friends and fellow church goers to see her off, but Mom and I knew her for what she was."

"Yeah, a bitter old cunt." Marty couldn't stop himself from saying it. The woman had been a two-faced bitch. Putting on a pleasant face for the community but wore another for her own family. The conservative community saw her as a darling old woman, but she had been warden and judge to her daughter and granddaughter. 

"Mom took me to Six Flags the day we left that town." 

"She did?"

"Yeah! Best day of my childhood. I think she wanted to celebrate our emancipation."

"I'm sorry you had to live with that woman," Marty whispered. “I . . .well . . .I’m sorry.”

"It's okay. I see it as one of those experiences I needed to become who I am now." Liz closed her eyes, relaxing under his hand. "I think I can better sympathize with abused kids because of that bitch."

“And . . .do you see this . . . I mean bein' in Hell, as a learnin' experience?"

"Yeah . . .I think so," Liz replied. "I've been learning a lot since I got down here."

Marty listened to Liz's slow breathing, thinking back to when she had slept with Alice and him for the year after she was born. Alice had decided that she wanted her marriage bed back and declared from then on that Lizzie would sleep in her crib. And that was the beginning of many sleepless nights of a crying Lizzie who couldn't understand why she was banished from sleeping with her parents. Though, Marty believed it had been harder on him. 

There was this small empty space next to him that felt cold. It was nice to have sex with Alice in the bed again, but he missed having his daughter asleep next to him. If anything happened to her, he was right there to change her diaper, comfort her if she was scared, and give her a bottle if she were hungry. 

Alice had been the heavy sleeper while he would wake up instantly when Lizzie cried. Sometimes he took Lizzie for a walk around the apartment, rocking and jiggling her. He called it their midnight walks, which ended when he took her to the window for her to look out at the city's nightlife until she fell asleep in his arms. Sometimes the only way to coax her to slumber was sitting by the crib and rubbing her back until she fell asleep. 

Just like now. 

"I love you, baby," Marty told his sleeping daughter as he had done when she was a baby. "And I'm never going to let anything hurt you."

  
  



	20. Arc 4: Liz Alone - The White Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz and Marty get an unwanted visitor.

It wasn't the door being unlocked or the footsteps in the next room that woke Liz, but her own full bladder roused her in the late midnight hours. She must have drank a bit too much soda or maybe it was Hell’s way of torment by having soda drinks function like caffeine in the digestive systeml. 

Marty's hand was still on her back, and she quietly slipped out from beneath it so as not to disturb him. She used the restroom and checked the time. It was almost 1:00 in the morning. 

Did they set the timer on the coffee maker? Did it have a timer? She was too tired to remember. As tempting as it was to go back to bed, she would rather wake up in the morning to a fresh pot of coffee waiting for her. Liz padded into the kitchen area to check. Nope. They didn't.

She didn't bother turning on the light as her dark vision was pretty good, and the light would hurt her dark adjusted eyes. Maybe if she had turned on the lights, she would have noticed the figure watching her from the darkest corner of the main room.

However, she did notice it when a black gloved hand covered her mouth and pinched her nose shut. Her ears popped as she tried to scream. A strong hand gripped her arm, keeping her from pulling free.

"Shhhh, darlin', let's not make a racket and wake up the neighbors."

Eyes going wide, she tried to look behind her, but she was firmly held in place, even pushed forward against the counter where she had been prepping the coffee maker. For a frightening moment, she thought her attacker’s intention was to suffocate her until he released her nose to allow her air. 

"Your fella strikes me as the sort to play hero and that's only going to get him killed, so let the bloke sleep and stay quiet, eh?"

Who was this? All she could tell was he had an Australian accent and was taller and stronger than her. 

"Now, raise your right hand."

She kept her hands stubbornly on the counter. 

"C'mon, don't make me hurt ya, darlin'."

The hand on her arm squeezed hard enough to make her eyes water.

"The client said he wanted you in one piece, but doesn't mind if you come with bruises."

She slowly raised her right hand.

"G'girl." 

Something metallic encircled her wrist - a handcuff. Shit, shit, shit. Marty was asleep in the next room; he would help her if she could alert him to what’s happening.

Her hand was being pulled behind her back. If he locked her other hand in the other handcuff, then her chances of fighting back would be severely diminished. What could she do? If the pot was full of hot coffee, she could throw it into his face . . .wait, she didn't need the pot to be full. She grabbed it by the handle and flung it to the floor as hard as she could. It burst in a loud glass splintering pop, spraying the floor in sharp shards. 

"Now why go and do a thing like that?" the voice chided. 

Shards of glass peppered her feet and slid against her toes.  _ Shit, my feet are going to get cut up again. _

The bedroom slammed open. With the speed of a striking snake, the kidnapper twisted at the waist, drew a gun, and fired two shots at the open door. Two holes smoked at the opposite wall of the bedroom, but no bleeding Marty was on the floor. Still holding onto Liz's mouth, the kidnapper kept his gun aimed at the door. 

"If you're smart, you'll stay in there," the kidnapper warned.

_ He doesn't know that Dad can go invisible. Dad's here. He just needs an opening. _

While his attention was on the door, she grabbed the kidnapper's arm for leverage, jumped up, and kicked against the counter with both feet. Catching him by surprise, propelled them back several feet, but it wasn't enough to topple him over and for her to escape. 

Yet, it was enough for Marty.

The kidnapper hollered as he was suddenly yanked away from Liz and thrown across the kitchen table where they had earlier eaten dinner. The dishes hadn't been cleared away, and they shattered across the floor with the overturned table.

For the first time, Liz was able to get a look at her would-be kidnapper. He had a thin, lanky body and wore white and gray clothing with suspicious splotchy stains that reminded her of dried blood. An Australian outback hat with crocodile teeth crowned a mop of white hair. The most striking of all was the large cycloptic eye swiveling in an eye socket the size of a dinner plate. It resembled a bullseye with several black bands in the gray sclera with a white X dead center where the pupil would be. 

When he lauded on the floor, he raised a gun, trying to find his assailant, but his gun hand was twisted at an odd angle with an invisible force, and blows rocked his head several times. 

"Get the fuck outta here, Lizzie! Go!" Marty bellowed. 

The white demon gathered his legs to his middle and double kick. Liz couldn't see it, but she could sense Marty being thrown off as the broken dishes rattle across the floor. Before the white demon could rise, he was thrown back by a heavy force, carrying him into the kitchen area. Black gloves scrambled for purchase and caught the fridge door that swung open in his grip. Beer bottles, sauces, and other foods rained on the floor between their feet.

The white demon looked down, noticing the footprints that weren't his churning in the mess. With a malicious smirk, he reached into the fridge and grabbed a beer caught on the edge of the shelf. Breaking the cap off with a thumb, he swung the open bottle, lashing the area before him with the liquid until it hit something he couldn't see with his naked eye. The liquid clung to a body before him, outlining a chest and arm.

"There you are, wanker." 

Marty swung, but his fist was caught and twisted. Several jabs to his torso bent him double, and a knee smashed into his nose. The advantage he had while invisible was gone now, and he was in serious trouble. He may be of bigger build than the lanky white demon, but this one was a better fighter, proven true when he deftly kicked Marty in the back of the knee with a spiked boot, dropping him onto the floor.

"Nice try," the white demon chortled. "Not often someone gets the drop on me."

A fist slammed into Marty's head, rocking his head to side, and he tasted blood in his mouth. 

"Leave him alone!" 

Lizzie, who had not run away as he ordered, appeared with a chair. She swung and broke it across the white demon's shoulders who grunted more out of surprise than pain. The white demon delivered a sharp backhand slap that sent Lizzie to the floor with a cry. 

Black fury erupted in Marty's soul, and with an inner strength he never knew he possessed, he threw himself at the white demon with an open mouth to bite and rip him apart. Instead of flesh and bone, his teeth sank into leather and wood. Somehow, someway, within seconds the demon had drawn a black spiked club from his person and had used it to block Marty's maw.

"Going through a lot for a sheila, mate." The white demon commented casually, though there was strain in his voice as he struggled to keep the weapon between himself and sharp teeth. 

If Marty's mouth hadn't been full, he would have responded with a 'fuck you.' 

Lizzie was crawling to her feet and dashing for . . .the bedroom!? He told her to get the fuck out of here! Why was she going in the opposite direction!? There was no way out that way!

Within seconds, she returned with the purse she took to the Midnight Song. Marty realized what she was doing and kept the white demon's attention on him. He wrenched the bat with all his might, nearly tussling it from the demon's grasp. 

"Like a damn gator," the demon said, almost impressed, before he wrenched the bat free from Marty's mouth, almost pulling out several teeth. 

And like a Major League star batter, the white demon pivoted at the hips and delivered a home run swing. The bat, spikes and all struck the side of Marty's head. The impact cracked something in his jaw, and he felt several teeth spilled from his mouth as he hit the floor.

Everything went dark, and a low ringing filled his ears. His coherent thought was,  _ Now I know what they mean by having your bells rung. _

A long shadow fell over him. The white demon stood with the bat raised like an executioner's ax. Marty knew he had to get up, retaliate, or get out of the way, but his brain was damaged enough that he couldn't move. The X of the demon's eye glowed with merciless intention as black gloves adjusted on the handle for a firmer grip. 

"Get away from him!" 

Liz charged the demon with the angel blade in hand. Before the tip of the knife could reach its target, a spot between his ribs, the white demon spun around, blocking the attack and seizing the wrist that held the knife. 

She watched the single eye face phase through different emotions: irritation of her intervention, then shock and horror of the holy weapon ("Crikey!"), then smoldering fury of how close she came to killing him. The grip on her wrist tightened until her hand was forced open, dropping the knife into his waiting hand. 

"You could have come quietly, but you didn't want to do that, did you, darlin'? Guess what happens now."

A dark, ominous hand clutched Liz's heart as she read the malignant intent in his eye. "N-no, no! Don't!"

Despite her efforts to stop him, pulling his hair and clothes with her free hand, he knelt down and shoved the knife into Marty's chest. Liz didn't know who screamed louder - her horrified scream or Marty's shriek of agony as the blade cut through flesh and bone like a hot blade through cream. 

Marty never thought anything could hurt so much. Spending 30 years in Hell had introduced him to all manners of injuries and pains: falling off a roof, stabbing, getting shot, bitten, burned, and hit by vehicles. And most recently, impaled on rebar. However, all of it combined didn't compare to the agony tearing him apart. When he stopped screaming, it was only because he could not draw breath to continue. 

The white demon jerked the blade free with a satisfied grin, creating a short spray of blood that dotted his coat. He tucked it away into his long coat, uncaring of the blood-stained blade. 

"No, no, no," Liz moaned over her father's body, pressing both hands to the bleeding wound to hold back the blood flow. 

"Say goodbye to your bloke and let's go." The white demon stared at her impassively, save for a violent gleam in his eye. 

"Go to hell," Liz hissed, baring her teeth like a feral cat.

"We're already there, darlin'." He hauled her to her feet by the arm.

She screeched and tried to claw at his face with both bloody hands. Oh, how wonderful it would feel to scratch his large eye out of his skull. However, expecting such resistance, he punched her in the stomach. With a deep moan, she doubled over as the air left her body. 

An arm curled around her waist and lifted Liz off her feet. The white demon carried her a few steps before stopping. 

"Holy fuck," the white demon whispered. "You're still alive?"

Liz looked down through tearful eyes to see Marty's hands wrapped around the white demon's boot. His dark eyes with blue pupils met hers, and he spoke in a raspy painful voice. 

“Lizzie . . .run. . .”

For the first time, she noticed the handcuff dangling from her right wrist. She grabbed the cuff curve and jammed the sharp teeth of the open ring into the arm around her. With a grunt, the arm released her, and as soon her feet touched the floor, she ran for the door.

The white demon didn't get far in following her, dragging Marty's body from his foot. With a snarl, he glared down at the bleeding demon. "Let go, ya wanker!"

“Fuck . . .you. . . “

A black boot with spikes on the sole stomped down hard on his head. Marty uttered a low moan of main. There was a second stomp followed by a sickening crack of bone. After the third stomp, Marty couldn't see out of his left eye anymore. 

The boot came down one final time, then everything went black.

***

Her feet hammered the steps as she fled to the first floor. Tears fell, clouding her vision, and she had to wipe them away to see where her feet handed.  _ I’d probably take the stairs quicker if I fell down them _ , she thought bitterly. 

Her father . . .

No, no, no, she had to think about getting herself to safety first. Marty . . .Dad . . .don't let the sacrifice be for nothing . . .

Overwhelming emotional pain rose in her chest, threatening to choke her unless she let it out. She leaned against the rail and screamed so hard it burned her throat. Let it wake up the other demons, let all of Hell hear her; in that horrible moment it no longer mattered.

As she gasped for breath, the curse of clarity and regret rolled over her. Why the fuck didn't she get the phone and call for help!? Why didn't she grab Marty's car keys? Why did she have to attack with the angel blade, thus giving the bastard a weapon to kill Marty? So many things she could have done to avert what happened, and she did everything wrong! 

"I hear you down there, sheila. I'll be down to join you in a moment."

The voice brought forth fury and terror, and she dashed down the stairs, across the lobby, and outside into Hell. The lobby and the street was empty at this time of night. Frantically she looked around and wondered which way? 

Dammit, anyway, one was as good as the other. She took off down the street, heading south. Her partly healed foot protested at the idea of running, and Liz had to choke back a sardonic laugh when she realized that she was actually running barefoot through Hell. And with no pants . . .People were going to think she was running away from a rape. Maybe that will move them to help her.

She came to a halt when the white demon strolled around the corner at the end of the block. He didn't even appear out of breath. With a tilt of his head, he crooked a finger at her.

"C’mon, sheila, let’s not do this all night."

Why the hell does he keep calling her sheila?

Liz darted down an alley. If it wasn't for running without shoes, it was like a marathon. She regulated her breath and forced herself not to panic and run at full speed so as not to burn out. Forcing herself not to think about Marty, she ran, being mindful of not stepping on anything that could injure her feet. Thinking of him would distract her from fleeing. Later, when she was safe, she could think of him and return to the apartment.

_ Lizzie . . .run . . .  _

She allowed herself to think of how happy he would be that she was finally doing as he said.

Taking several turns to lose the white demon, she paused for a breath, taking care to breathe through her nose to get the oxygen straight to her lungs and into her blood. In through the nose and out through the mouth, until she was no longer gasping for breath. 

There was clapping from across the street. She raised her eyes to see the white demon leaning against the building and applauding her with slow claps of black gloves. 

"Good job, darlin', you must run regularly to last this long."

Mad panic sent her scurrying back the way she had come. Who the fuck was she kidding? The demon probably had bottomless reserves of energy! She's seen Marty survive being impaled on rebar spikes, Angel take a blow that should have broken his jaw and come back fighting, and the demonic presence of Alastor. There was no way she could outrun this demon, and there was no losing him. She needed to double back to the apartment and get Marty's phone to call Shard or Angel Dust and get the car keys. Let's see the asshole outrun a car.

A foot kicked out and tripped her. Liz had fallen enough times during running to stay soft and not try to catch herself. She landed on her shoulder with her arms around herself, to protect herself from the brunt of the fall. Before she had a chance to move, a hand grabbed her hair and a knee planted between her shoulder blades, pinning her against the pavement. 

"It was fun, but now it's over."

Her right wrist, with the handcuff, was pulled around to her lower back. Cursing at him, she refused to let him take her other wrist, pulling it beneath her chest. She was caught, but Liz wasn't going to make it easy for the bastard. 

Hard fingers curled around her wrist in a bruising grip, and she was lifted up by the hair. Eyes watering, she noticed the tall clock tower she had seen a few times since arriving in hell. It had the regular clock face, but below it was a number listed as The Next Cleanse.

When they were driving to the Midnight Song, it was listed as 180 Days. Now it said 178 Days. What was the Cleanse it was counting down to?

This was how people dealt with traumatizing situations. Liz had interviewed enough rape and abuse victims to know she was experiencing dissociation, a means to separate herself from what was happening to protect her mind from breaking. The terror at her situation was there, but focusing on something divorced herself from it. 

Her other wrist was behind her back down, so it'll only be a second before it was cuffed with her other hand. Then this demon was going to do whatever he intended for her. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. Helpless fury and terror filled her to the point where she wondered if her heart was beating.

"Hey! Asshole! Look up!"

The white demon lifted his eye and saw two large paint cans inches from his face for a millisecond before his vision filled with black paint. With a shout, the cyclops demon rolled onto his side, rubbing furiously at his eye, dark paint dotting his clothes. 

"Ms. C! C'mon, we gotta go!" 

Hands pulled Liz to her feet and took her to the building. She expected to go through a door or a window, but instead, she was pulled against a thin body.

"Hold on tight! We're going up!"

She did as she was told, throwing arms around a furry body clothed in overalls. There was a belt around the waist holding paint cans in round slots. A long monkey tail entwined around her waist, securing her in place, and then they were rising.

The demon scaled the side of the building with a speed that surprised her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the white demon still writhing on the street, struggling to get the paint out of his eye. 

"What about . . ."

"Oh, he's gonna be hating that for a while. I got 'im with Level 10 thickness with the nozzle fully opened."

Once they were at the top, the demon grabbed her hand, and ran, dragging her along. "We're gonna have to jump a few roofs, but we’ll lose him."

"O-okay."

She was coming back to herself, trying to catch up with what was happening now. Someone was saving her, someone she should know. She wasn't safe yet, but her situation has improved considerably in the last few minutes. 

"Y. . .Young-ho?"

"Yeah, it’s me, Ms. C!"

  
  
  
  
  



	21. Arc 4: Liz Alone - Double Hell

Young-ho ran faster than she could keep up, so he carried her on his back. Holding onto him with both arms and legs, she tried not to scream when he took a running leap off the edge of the roof, fall several stories and caught the curve of a light post, swing in an arc across the street, and landed at a window sill which he used to propel them to towards the roof. Young-ho climbed with the ease of a gymnast, mountain climber, and a monkey combine.

She didn't know whether it was better to close her eyes or keep them open. The wind whipped her hair and fluttered Marty's. . .her nightshirt. And flying through the cold hellish air wasn't too comfortable either. Her teeth were almost chattering by the time Young-ho decided they were well away from her would-be kidnapper.

"I think we're safe here, Ms. C," Young-ho crouched, letting her off his back and dropped onto his rear. "We can rest here for the moment."

"He's. . .he's fast," Liz said. "I couldn't get away from him."

"Yeah, he's a fast, but he kept takin' shortcuts and going across rooftops. As long as he knew which direction you were runnin', he could stay ahead of you. He's prolly back there still trying to get the paint outta his eye."

Liz sat down and regarded the demon who had been one of her clients. He was no longer the bright eye Korean boy, but a bright eye cat demon with golden fur stained by paint splotches and a long monkey tail that curled across his lap. 

He was studying her too. "Ya look different from last night. You're not blue anymore."

"No, that was . . .that was body makeup so people won't know I'm human."

"I didn't think you were a demon, Ms. C. You're too nice to be in Hell." 

There was a long silence between them as Young-ho dropped his gaze from her. He was the demon in Hell between the two of them.

"W-what happened?" Liz asked.

"How I died?"

"I know how you died . . .the hospital called me because I was your emergency contact. You were shot."

Liz remembered back to that terrible night when received the call from the hospital. She had thrown on her clothes and was out the door within minutes. However, no matter how much she heckled the taxi cab driver, Young-ho had died by the time she arrived. 

Young-ho looked away, his ears folding slightly as he recalled his death. "We were in the park and the Red Snakes did a drive-by . . .I don't remember much except my chest hurting a lot and then I was down here."

Liz closed her eyes and felt pain at the loss of a talented young life. Young-ho had been a young artist with a liking for water scenes which she recognized in the murals of the crane and of his sister both in water on the grime covered buildings of Pentagram City. He should have been in art school learning how to expand his talent, not getting shot in a gang turf war. 

“Liz,” his voice broke into her memories and she looked up to see him forlornly toying with his tail. “How’s Jesse?”

"Jesse? Oh, Jang-mi. Yes, she's fine. She was upset when you died, but I looked after her and made sure she went to grief counseling. She graduated from N.Y.U. last year."

"You're still in touch!?" Young-ho blinked, tears forming in his eye. 

"Of course! We don't see each other as much anymore because she's interning at a hospital, and they have crazy work hours, but we send each other emails occasionally." 

"Wow . . .Jesse did it. She's a doctor," Young-ho squeezed his eyes shut as a tear rolled down his cheek. 

Jang-mi, or known as her American name, Jesse, had been a sweet girl and Young-ho's twin sister. When Liz got them out of their abusive home life, the girl had thrived in her new foster home and did well in school, but Young-ho had rejected his American name, Michael, and joined up with a Korean gang. Liz had done everything she could to get him away from that dangerous group, even tried to get him into art school, but it had been too late when he was killed.

"Whatcha doin' in Hell? You're not dead, are ya?"

"Have you heard of I.M.P?"

***

_ Marty was standing on the stairs. Coming up the stairs was a young human man, dark with an unshaven jaw showing the promise of becoming a beard in a few short days. Paper bags rattled in his hands as he took each step with exhausted sag in his shoulders.  _

_ He followed the man though he had no conscious sensations of legs moving and taking the stairs. Marty knew how this would play out, and wanted to scream, run away, or anything not to see it happening again. _

_ The young man opened the door to a small apartment. "Alice! I'm home! I brought some chinese food." _

She's not there.

_ Marty could hear his voice, but it wasn't coming from his mouth. It echoed from his brain and around the room, but the young man didn't notice it. _

_ "Alice? Hey, baby, where are you?" _

She's gone. She's never coming back.

_ "Alice?" _

_ If it was possible to close his eyes, Marty would have done so to not see the young man set the bags on the kitchen table and head for the bedroom to see his wife's belongings gone. Then he ran to the nursery to see his daughter's toys, diapers, and clothes were gone too. He went to the main room to see the letter on the coffee table. _

**Marty,**

**I have taken Lizzie with me to my mother's house, and we are not coming back.**

_ Marty screamed to drown out the words, to occupy his mind so he couldn't comprehend them. _

_ Then he was inside his body again. He was able to move freely within his old apartment kitchen. Rubbing his face to see if he was awake, he walked around the table, recognizing the old fridge with the light bulb that flickers whenever they opened the door. The toaster that kept burning toast. And the troublesome stove they had to watch carefully, or it'll burn anything from a frozen pizza to a meatloaf within minutes.  _

_ Padding through the side door, sporting a pink little Care Bear shirt and a diaper, and a proud big girl at two years old, was Lizzie dragging behind a blue blanket. She was rubbing at her face as if she woke from a nap, blinking at the light until her blue eyes focused on him.  _

_ "Hi, Da-dii!" _

Oh God . . .my little girl . . .

_ He took her into his arms and wept at the precious weight of her soft body weight against his chest. The familiar scent of baby powder and the lavender soap Alice used to bathe her wafted into his nose, and he could almost taste Chips Ahoy crumbs clinging to her cheeks when he kissed her face.  _

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

**Are you sorry?**

_ He raised his eyes to see Alice. Beautiful, young, and unchanged from when he last saw her. Light brown hair tied back in a high ponytail, and wearing jeans and a sweater she like to wear when it was cold.  _

Yeah, I'm sorry.

_ Alice tilted her head and arched a brow, so much like her adult daughter did when she was trying to discern the truth from someone.  _

**I know you're sorry. I've known it for a long time, but sometimes saying sorry doesn't cut it.**

Then what should I do?

_ Lizzie was gone from his arms. He rose, looked under the table, and in the hallway.  _ Where is she?

**Our daughter's in danger, Marty. So stop saying sorry and do something!**

What the fuck do you think I've been doing!? I've been doing everything I can to save her!

**You're need to do more!**

_ Snow pelted his body as his eyelids grew heavy. He was falling asleep, and he knew if he would not wake up if he did. Ice was covering his body as it did the day he died.  _

_ He was dying again _

***

"Wow . . .that's a lot to have happened in a few days," Young-ho muttered when Liz finished the short version of her time in Hell.

"Young-ho, we need to go . . ."

"Ah, Ms. C, could ya call me Jesse," the cat demon said, fidgeting with his tail, which she will soon learn is a nervous tick for him. "I go by Jesse down here."

"Oh, your sister's American name?"

"Yeah, it . . .I didn't like myself when I was Young-ho on Earth. It makes me feel that she's close when someone calls me by her name."

"Alright, but you have to call me Liz instead of Ms. C, okay?"

"Sure!" Young-ho, now Jesse, beamed with a smile that stretched across his feline face.

"I need to go back to my father. He was badly injured . . ." She refused to acknowledge he could be dead until she saw it for herself. "Can you get me back to his apartment without that bastard finding us? I don't know the city, so I can't give you directions . . ."

"I know where you live because . . .well, I followed you," Jesse looked away uncomfortably.

"You did? But you ran away from me last night."

"I know, but . . .well, seeing you was heavy . . .some really heavy shit. I . . .I couldn't handle it because I was . . ." Jesse averted his eyes from hers. "I still wanted to see you again so I followed you to the party and I was gonna say hello, but those tough guys showed up and then the Radio Demon . . .I got scared, but I did follow you to your apartment."

"Why didn't you try to see me yesterday? I was at the apartment all day with my father."

"I . . .I couldn't," Jesse's lips tighten into a thin line as if to refrain from telling her more. "C'mon, let's go see your dad."

***

_ He was going up the stairs again. Marty had no choice but to follow him. _

_ "Alice! I'm home! I brought some chinese food." _

She's not here, you poor sad bastard!

_ "Alice? Hey, baby, where are you?" _

Why did it take me so long to notice that something wasn't right? 

**You were always self-centered, Marty.**

_ After witnessing his old self finding the letter, he was back in his body again. There were footsteps from the doorway, and Lizzie appeared, all grown up and wearing Angel Dust's black coat with the lower sleeves tied around her middle like a belt.  _

_ "Hi, Dad!" _

_ He embraced her, almost lifting her off her feet. She felt solid in his arms, her hair smelled of soap, but he could almost taste the dry wood dust from the mill on his tongue.  _

Are you okay?

**No, she's not okay.**

_ Alice was there again, but this time she was barely a shadow of her former self. Her face was so thin her cheeks were gaunt, and the eyes were hollow. Her head of light brown hair was gone, stolen by chemotherapy, and replaced with a turban. Her thin, frail body was swallowed by a soft blue robe. Marty never saw Alice after leaving him, but he knew this was how she appeared when she died. _

What do I do?

**Help her.**

I am!

**No, you're not. It's not your fault. I have failed her too.**

_Snow pelted his face and hands. He was tired again, and sleep was pulling down into the darkness. He would not wake up again._

_ *** _

"I think it's clear."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I can see pretty good in the dark."

"Okay."

"Got a good grip?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, hold on."

Another death-defying leap across between rooftops, and then Jesse climbed downward using windows as handholds until they got to Marty's apartment window. He peered into the window, squinting to look through the glass.

"I don't see anyone . . ."

"Let's go in." Liz felt numb, distant, not daring to let the worry writhing inside her like angry snakes. 

"Alright," Jesse drew a can from his belt and used the bottom to break the glass. "Watch your head."

He carried them inside and brought Liz past the broken glass, and set her down. She ran to the kitchen where Marty had fought the white demon but was struck with horror when she saw the trail of bloody footprints leading to the open door. That was when the white demon had left the apartment to go after her. 

She followed the footprints back to where they came front and saw Marty. “Dad . . .Daddy?”

The blood pooled around him, the open wound in his chest still spewed blood, and his face . . .the side of his face was raw meat. His right eye socket had been caved in under the heel of the white demon, and the spiked soles perforated his face. His jaw hung loosely open, revealing several teeth were missing. 

"No, no, no . . ." she knelt in the blood, uncaring of her bare skin being stained with blood as it belonged to her father. “Daddy, please, wake up . . .Daddy . . .don’t leave me.”

Marty didn't move. There was no sign of life in his body - no rise or fall of the chest, eyes didn’t twitch, nor did his nose draw breath. She touched his face, willing him to wake up, to move, or give any indication that he was alive, but there was none—just dead meat. 

Liz's face twisted as raw pain she hadn't felt since her mother passed away seized her in its talons. A hole was being ripped into her body and soul where her father had been, young and new, but all the more painful for what could have been was taken away all too soon. 

"Liz . . .we have to go."

She was in too much pain to acknowledge the timid voice behind her. “I . . .he won’t wake up . . .”

"We can't stay here . . ."

"I can't leave him."

"I don't think staying with him is gonna do him any good," Jesse said apologetically. "We got to go. This will be the first place that guy will come to look for ya."

Liz closed her eyes, knowing that Jesse was right but unable to emotionally accept it. "I need a few minutes . . .there's phones in the bedroom. Will you get them, please?"

"Sure." Jesse's footsteps fell away, leaving Liz along with Marty's body.

Hot tears dripped off her face and landed in the cooling blood. What happens to demons after they die? Arackniss had told her there was nothing after this life for demons. So Marty is erased from existence? It didn't bear thinking about now that she knew there was life after death.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry," she whispered between sobs. "I should have done as you said . . .I should have ran away and gave that bastard a reason to leave you alone."

She took his hand into hers and squeezed it tight. "Dad, please, just . . .don't be dead, okay? I need you . . .God, I love you, so please, please, please, just wake up, okay?"

Jesse returned a moment later with the phones. "I got them. You got somebody to call?"

"Yeah . . .Angel Dust . . ." Liz said, still not looking away from Marty.

"The porn star!?" 

"Yeah and . . . Marty's friend, Shard. One of them should have a place I can . . ."

"Liz?"

Her breath caught in her throat. Something was pricking the back of her hand. Marty's claw tip pressed into the skin between her first and second knuckle. There was pressure around her hand, weak, but there.

"He's alive . . ." Liz felt herself coming back to life at the revelation. "He's alive . . .oh, thank God!"

"What? No, he doesn't look alive." Jesse leaned down to peer closely at the body. 

"He is! Please, get a towel so I can stop the bleeding."

***

Up the stairs, I went to see my wife had taken my daughter away.

_ "Alice! I'm home! I brought some chinese food." _

_ Marty's mind wondered as his past self went through the terrible realization his family was gone - never to return. It was what happened after that concerned him.  _

_ "Hello, Father." _

_ Lizzie came through the door away, but different. She was much taller, skin almost snow white. Short cropped hair had grown out to lay on her shoulders and so dark it was almost blue. Her face was longer, more well defined. And the most striking thing about her was the white wings sprouting from her back.  _

Lizzie?

_ He was so stunned that he didn't move until she crossed over to him and embraced him. She smelled of clouds and sky, and her skin was soft and smooth as it was when she was a baby. Her body was solid and strong in his arms as he hugged her tight.  _

**There isn't much time. The danger is around her.**

I know she's in trouble!

**You're selfish, and that is why you are in Hell.**

Enough about me! What about her!? Stop telling me she's in danger and help me save her!

**I can't!**

_ Alice was sitting at the table, shrouded in dark shadows. He could see himself reflected in her blue eyes, which stared at him as coldly as the snow falling about him. _

I'm dying again. 

**Maybe.**

You were rough, but never a cold bitch, Alice.

**Fuck you.**

_ He died. _

_ *** _

Liz hastily dressed, pulling on Angel Dust's black jacket and tying the lower sleeves around her waist. On the bed, where barely an hour ago, she and Marty had been sleeping peacefully before everything went to hell, the hellphone was ringing on speaker. 

The phone had rung several times before It was answered by a low, hushed voice with the background of nightclub music, "Marty, what the fuck? I can't talk . . ."

"It's me," Liz said, grabbing a pair of Marty's boots from the closet. "Angel, we were attacked . . .and Dad's been hurt. Bad."

"What the fuck are ya talkin' about?" 

"Someone broke into our apartment and attacked us. Dad's been seriously hurt," she found two pairs of socks and began pulling them on. The boots would be a better fit if she had extra padding on her feet. She forewent the high heels on the likely chance they were going to have to run. "I managed to lose the guy, but I'm scared he's still out there looking for me." 

"Jesus, Liz, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, but Dad isn't."

A new deep voice cut across the phone. "Angel Cakes, what the fuck are you doing? You're on in two minutes!"

"I'll be there inna second - Call Shard. I'll call back when I get a chance."

"Hang up the phone, Angel." The deep voice growled with so much menace, it sent a chill down Liz’s spine.

"Alright, shit, I'm hanging -"

The call disconnected, and Liz cursed under her breath. She went through Marty's shortlist of contacts and found Shard's name. It wasn't as long a wait for Shard to answer. 

"Marty?" Shard sounded like he just woke up, but his tongue was friendly, even inviting, "You're callin' late."

"Shard, it's Liz. Something happened."

After a minute of explanation, she could hear him getting dressed. "Get Marty out of there!"

"I don't know where we can go!"

"There's a safe house on Grinder street. It's a blue warehouse. Knock on the door five times and give whoever answers the password, 'Dogwood'. They'll protect ya until I get there. I'll call ahead and let them know to expect you."

"Alright, we're taking Marty's car." 

"Call me if anything else happens."

Hanging up, Liz headed for the main room but stopped when she saw the armoire. She threw open its doors and began gathering the photos into thick stacks. Liz carried them into the kitchen area, where she started pulling out plastic bags. As she sealed the photos inside the baggies, she noticed Jesse coating the tv screen with black paint. He was kneeling in front of it and swiping the can back and forth in deliberate strokes to cover every inch of the surface.

"What are you doing?" The living room and kitchen was already a mess with broken items and blood, but ruining a television seemed like an insult to injury. 

"Sorry, habit," Jesse said as he rose. "We have to keep every tv screen covered or painted over in CandyLand for some reason."

"Why?"

Jesse shrugged. "Dunno. It's one of the rules we have to follow."

As much as Liz wanted to question him about CandyLand, they had bigger concerns right now. "There's a safehouse on Grinder street. Do you know where that is?"

"I think so, but it'll be a long walk carrying him." 

Marty laid in deathly silence on the couch, wrapped in sheets from the bed. Liz had done what she could to clean away the blood, but that only allowed her to see the extensive damage to his head. She wrapped a towel around his face to protect it as much as to keep from seeing it.

"We just need to get him to the car." Liz held up the car keys. "Then we can drive him the rest of the way."

They each took an arm and, with the greatest care, lifted him off the couch. Though he was a demon, Jesse wasn't much taller than Liz, and it was with great difficulty they carried him between them with his feet and tail dragging behind them. It took longer than she would have liked to take Marty down the stairs. It was mind wracking, expecting to see the white demon appear from around every corner as they tried not to fall or drop Marty down the stairs. 

It was a burst of relief when they managed to get him outside. Liz held the keys tightly, ready to unlock the doors the instant the car came in sight. How long ago had Jesse blinded the white demon? How long would it have taken for him to recover and resume the chase? 

Marty's car came into view, the old vehicle looking beautiful as a beacon of hope. She held out the car keys and pressed the unlocking button. The car lights flashed as the doors unlocked. Now all they needed was to get Marty in the backseat and they could leave this nightmare behind. 

A shot rang out, piercing the air above their heads. They both ducked, taking Marty down with them to the street. 

"Where is that coming from?" Liz hissed, looked around, but saw no one.

"Up there! Look!" Jesse pointed upward towards the top of a nearby building.

Standing on the roof corner of a nearby building, peering with malicious glee, the white demon held a long-range rifle. Liz's heart leaped into her throat as his red-rimmed eye looked through the scope at them. She threw herself over Marty, protecting him with her body as another gunshot echoed over the rooftops. 

Two more shots rang out, and she flinched at each one. Then there was silence save for the buzzing in her ears. Raising her head, she looked back to see the white demon stepping back from the corner with a smirk.

"What's he so happy about? He missed," she muttered. 

"No. He didn't." Jesse moaned and pointed at the car.

Liz's jaw dropped as she saw the deflating tires cave in upon themselves. "Oh, god, no . . .he shot out the fucking tires!"

She looked back at the roof, and the white demon was gone. They had minutes, if at that. "Jesse . . ."

"Over here!" He was standing over a manhole cover and lifting it up with both hands. After sliding it over, he hurried back to help with Marty. "We're taking the sewers."

"But we'll be trapped down there . . ."

"It's better than being out here in the open," Jesse said, dragging Marty along, not waiting for her to be convinced. "It's like a maze down there, but I know them."

"How?" Liz asked, incredulous as Jesse climbed down into the hole to help lower Marty down. 

"It's how I get in and out of CandyLand without anyone knowing," Jesse shot her a stern look, his amber eyes glowing in the dim shadows of the sewers. "Liz, please, we don't have time for twenty questions. He’s on his way right now and the car is useless. Ya just have to trust in this!"

***

Stop with the games. Is this a hallucination, or is this Double Hell?

**Ha! You really believe in a 'Double Hell'?**

This feels like it. You hate me. I know I deserve it, but right now, I'm our daughter's best chance of getting out of this alive.

**You think I fear for her life?**

Yes! Demons are trying to kill her!

**It is not her death I fear. It is something far, far worse.**

I don't understand.

_ Heya pops!  _

_ Lizzie was at the doorway. Her skin was blue, and a long tail slithered across the floor behind her as she walked on two digitigrade talons. She grinned at him with sharp teeth, and crimson eyes burned into him as she embraced him. _

_ She smelled of brimstone and fire, her body was hard as stone, and she tasted of blood when she kissed his lips.  _

**It is not her death I fear. I fear for her soul. Marty, you have to save her from Hell.**

  
  



	22. Arch 4: Liz Alone - The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter. 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Sexual harassment and assault
> 
> Liz goes through a dangerous place to elude the White Demon.

Marty was almost dropped down the ladder several times before they managed to get him safely to the bottom. Jesse pulled the manhole cover back in place, dropped down from the top, and landed on his feet with the ease of a gymnast dismounting a balance beam. Then the two of them each pulled Marty's arms across their shoulders and dragged him along as they hurried down the tunnels.

Liz had never taken a jaunt in the sewers before but had seen enough movies and tv shows with scenes to know what they look like. However, Pentagram City sewers were nothing as she would have imagined. It was like looking at abstract art with the ways confusing until they drew close. The turns and twists made no sense, and sometimes they were short hallways that lead to dead ends, and not all the tunnels were shaped the same nor with the same height. One tunnel was star-shaped while another was arched. And sometimes the ceiling was so low, they had to almost crouch to get Marty through without bumping their heads.

It was dark with the only light offered by the light shining through the drains. Liz had to rely on Jesse's superior night vision to lead them. She turned whichever direction he led, trusting him to know the way. They didn't speak, saving their energy for carrying Marty. At first, with adrenaline pumping and fear for motivation, they covered a lot of ground; however, the further they went, the heavier Marty became. Even Jesse was breathing hard by the time Liz realized they had slowed down to a steady walk.

_ We're not going to make it. _

They were simply going too slow. The white demon was unhindered and fast. Their best hope was he went in one direction while they went in another. 

Drawing a quick breath to speak, she whispered, "Jesse, do you know where we are?"

"I'm not sure. I'd have to get above ground and look around," Jesse huffed.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, tired, but I can keep going."

"Let's stop for a moment. I need to text Shard and tell him what happened."

"You won't get a signal down here."

"Shit. Okay, when we come to a manhole . . ."

An echo rippled down the tunnels, washing over them like a cold wind. "Sheila . . .where are you?"

She risked a pause to look behind them and saw only the empty tunnels. Which direction did the voice come from? The sound reverberated against the walls, carried by the cold air and darkness. Was it ahead of them? Was it possible the white demon had chosen a direction that looped around ahead of them like a shortcut?

"Lizzie . . .that's your name? Isn't it? That's what your bloke called you before I crushed his head beneath my boot."

Her throat tightened as she recalled the state of Marty's face and the bloody footprints leading out of the apartment. 

"I only want you. Well, the client only wants you. He doesn't give a shite about your fella or the cat."

Jesse stared back with wide discernable yellow eyes. Was he as frightened as her?

"Let's make a deal. You come with me and I'll leave the cat alone. I owe him for spraying paint in my eye, but I'm a professional; I put the job first."

Jesse's face went from side to side as he shook his head. With a finger across his lips, he pointed ahead at a ladder leading up to a manhole cover. Nodding, she helped get Marty to the foot of the ladder.

"C'mon, Lizzie, I'm going to catch ya soon enough. And when I do and that cat boy is around, I'm gonna take this knife I done in your fella with and cut out his eyes."

Jesse scaled the ladder within seconds, and while he moved the manhole cover, Liz frantically looked around, expecting at any second for the white demon to walk around the corner with his spiked bat over his shoulder. 

Suspended by his tail coiled around a rung, Jesse reached down and hauled Marty up by the shoulders. Liz helped by hefting her father up by the legs and climbed up the ladder, pushing him up as she went. 

"He screamed like a stuck pig. And he begged for his life while I stomped his brains out."

_ He's trying to get a rise out of me. He doesn't know where I am, so he's provoking me, so I'll start crying or yelling at him. And it's working . . .  _ A tear rolled down her cheek as she could all too well imagine what the white demon had done to her father after she fled. 

Jesse got Marty's upper body out of the hole after pulling his legs up, he reached down to help Liz but blinked when he saw her still at the bottom of the ladder. "Liz, hurry."

"Catch." She tossed up Marty's cell phone. 

Jesse caught the phone with both hands. "What are you doing?"

"Cover the hole and get my dad to the blue warehouse on Grinder street."

"Wait, you're not . . ."

"No, I'm not giving myself up," Liz replied, revealing Marty's revolver tucked into her pants. "He's in for a rude surprise if he thinks I'll go with him quietly."

"This isn't a good idea." Jesse's ears laid back, and his pupils became round and large. 

"Honey, he's going to kill you and finish off my father if I don't do this," Liz glanced around and still didn't see the white demon. "Text me as soon as you get Marty to the warehouse."

"Wait! Take this." Jesse pulled something out of his pocket and dropped it. 

She caught it with both hands and studied it in the light. It was a bright red sphere that felt rubbery to the touch and slightly indented when she squeezed it. 

"Careful or it'll blow up in your hand."

"Blow up?" Liz looked at the ball as if it would take off her fingers. 

"It's not a bomb . . .I mean, it is, but it doesn't explode. It's a smoke bomb. Just throw it real hard on the ground and it'll create a huge red cloud."

"Okay, thanks, Jesse. Take care of my dad, okay?"

"I will." 

Then she took off into the darkness, leaving behind the pool of light from the hole.

***

_ What the fuck am I thinking? _

Second thoughts plagued her as the smell of the sewers. She didn't dare use her phone for light in case it gave her away, and without Jesse to see for her, she had to rely on keeping a hand on the wall to know when there's a turn. So far, she's been keeping to the left side of the tunnel and occasionally, taking a right turn to keep from circling around to where she started.

_ It'll be okay. . .it'll be okay. The bastard won't get Jesse or Dad if I do this. He doesn't want to kill me. _

But what about this client of his? Was it Seviathan who sent him? No, that didn't feel right. The Von Eldritch bastard wanted her beaten as a lesson, but the white demon said the client wanted her unharmed, but hurt if necessary. Well, she certainly made it necessary to hurt her.

"Lizzie . . ."

She froze, heart in her throat as she listened intently. Again, his voice echoed all around her, making it impossible to discern where it was coming from. The gun was heavy in her hands, meant for larger wielders, but she managed it with both. She crouched, trying to slow her breathing so she could hear and listen for the sound of spiked boots crunching on concrete. 

"C'mon, Lizzie, let's get out of this miserable sewer and I'll take you to my client. He wants to meet you."

Her heart was pounding so loudly, she began to fear she wouldn't hear him coming over it. 

"Ya know, people think the sewers are the safest place to hide, but it's actually the most dangerous."

Was this him trying to creep her out? Distract her while he snuck up behind her? A chill went down her spine, and she pressed her back against the wall. 

"During Exterminations demons would try to hide in the sewers. They would cram themselves down here like sardines in a can and hope the angels are too busy killing the sods above ground to find them."

What the fuck is he talking about? Angels killing demons?

"But the angels are smarter than that. They like to hunt too. Ever hunted rats or rabbits?"

Maybe while he's talking, listening to the sound of his own voice, she could keep going, and he wouldn't hear her moving. She crept along the tunnel, mindful of each step was as light as possible.

"A classy lady like you probably never have. Anyway, what you do is block off all the burrow holes save for two. At one hole, you send in a trained ferret while you wait at the other end with a gun or a hoe. With all the holes blocked off, the vermin only have one way to go."

She turned a corner and saw the light pouring in from a drain. In the light, she could make out part of the ceiling had caved in, making a possible way for her to reach the drain. 

"The angels did the same thing. I watched them one year. An angel went down into the sewer while five of them grouped around a large tunnel that let out at the quarry and cut down the demons as they poured out."

_ Yeah, just keep telling your grisly story, asshole.  _

Standing on the rubble on tiptoe, the ledge was just a few inches from the tips of her fingers. Tucking the gun into her pants, she hopped up and caught the edge with both hands. It took some scraping her feet against the wall, but she managed to pull herself up. She was halfway out the drain when she was grabbed and pulled the rest of the way through. Vertigo made her light headed as she was held off the ground.

"What? No!" She stared in complete complexity at the X pupil of the white demon. "How?"

He held her by the shoulders, and when he set her down, he maintained a hard grip on her arm and unclipped a radio from his belt. With a pleased grin, he said, "I don't have a ferret, but I have something else."

His voice echoed from the drain as he spoke. Liz blinked, then narrowed her eyes. "You were never down there!"

"You're not the first to try hiding from me in the sewers, sweetheart."

There had to be hidden speakers down there. He used his voice to scare her out of the sewers while he waited and watched the exits. 

She grabbed Marty's gun, but her wrist was caught and twisted before she could aim it at his face. 

"Let me take this away before you hurt yourself with it." He squeezed her wrist and pulled the gun free of her hand. He examined the gun and nodded, pleased with it. "Nice. Not as nice as the holy knife, but I like it. What other goodies do you have?"

"Kiss my ass," she hissed.

"Sorry, love, you're not my type," he laughed at her. "My car is a few blocks south. Do you want to walk or shall I carry you there?"

"Fuck off!"

She pulled away as hard as she could, uncaring of the bruising grip on her arm. Her free hand fumbled in her pocket for the smoke bomb, but the smooth rubbery sphere kept slipping away from her fingers. 

"Damn, you got some spirit. Just like your fella . . .that is before I put a holy weapon in his chest." The bastard actually giggled at the memory.

She managed to lift the ball from her pocket, but it fell from her fingers. It bounced on the pavement, hit the curb, and began rolling towards the drain. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at it, heading for the empty space like a pool ball towards a corner pocket. 

"What are you looking at?" The white demon looked down.

"This!" She raised her foot and brought it down on the smoke bomb with all her strength before it could fall into the sewer.

The smoke bomb went off with enough force to throw off her foot. A cherry red cloud spewed into their faces as billows of crimson filled the street. Liz fell hard on her ass, and it took her several moments to realize she was free. She got to her feet and ran . . .almost headfirst into a building. The smoke was so thick all she could see was red.

"Lizzie! You can run, but I'll find you!"

She moved against the wall until she found the edge and slipped down into what she hoped was an open alley. Hurrying but mindful of tripping, she made her way beyond the smoke cloud, and once she could see, she took off.

***

She didn't stop running until she was out of breath and a stitch in her side was about to split her in two. Dropping heavily onto a stoop of a building, gasping for air, she thought about how she needed to keep going, to put as much distance between her and the white demon, but knew she needed to rest, or she would collapse.

_ Breath in through the nose. Out through the mouth. And again. _

As she practiced her breathing exercise, she pulled out her phone and checked for messages. There was one from Marty's phone.

**Marty** : Liz, I couldn't carry your dad by myself to Grinder Street, but I got him somewhere safe. Are you okay? 

**Liz** : Yeah. Lost him. Smoke bomb came in handy. Where are you?

**Marty** : Inside a park. What about you?

**Liz** : I don't know. Can you send me your location on the phone?

**Marty** : Okay.

While she waited, she pulled up the map. A red mark pinpointed her location. She shrunk the map and studied the surrounding areas. There was one sector labeled the P.P. District. The other areas were the Cannibal Colony (she shuddered at the thought that she may have gone through there just now) and Butcher's Lane. 

A text message from Jesse brought up where the park laid. It went by the name Rose Park, a quaint name for a park in Hell. It was just north of P.P. District. Good, she had no wish to go through Cannibal Colony nor a place called Butcher's Lane in Hell. 

**Liz** : I'm on my way. How is Dad?

**Marty** : I think he's still alive, but he's not healing.

**Liz** : I'll be there soon.

***

On her way to the P.P. District, she came across a demon pass out against the wall of an alley. He was hugging a large bottle of booze to his chest and mumbling under his breath. His skin was a deep jungle green, and his half-open eyes were vermillion. And his rumpled clothes were of Victorian style with a white cravat bunched at his throat.

Biting her lip and feeling like an awful person, she slowly approached him. He barely moved as she gently tugged his cravat free from his suit. 

"I am so, so sorry," she whispered. "I would NOT be doing this if I didn't need it more than you."

The demon mumbled something under his breath, and the bottle slipped from his hands and rolled down his torso to the concrete. Liz picked up the bottle before any brown liquid could spill and handed it back like a mother giving a milk bottle to a sleepy infant. 

Backing away, she flapped the cravat open and tied it around her face like a bandana. It wasn't a mask, but it would have to do to disguise herself. It was a shame she didn't have the blue makeup to hide her skin color, but hopefully, no one would notice. It smelled of sweat and booze which made her eyes water until she became accustomed to it. 

She tried calling Shard, but either the signal wasn't getting through, or he couldn't pick up. Angel wasn't picking up either. She sent them a text begging them to call her ASAP.

It was odd to see a night sky cast in a bright red. The pentagram glowed above the city, providing light like a luminous moon. The sounds of speeding cars and distant gunshots followed her as she hurried into a nearby alley, following the map on her phone.

According to the map, she was getting close to P.P. District. Music with a heavy bass beat was playing ahead. Was that a rave going on somewhere? 

She turned a corner and saw two demons embracing in the wall of the building. Blinking, she realized they were doing more than embracing. One demon had his pants around his ankles, thrusting his hips into the open thighs of his lover, who spotted Liz over his shoulder. 

"What the fuck!?" Bright pink eyes narrowed into thin slivers. “Pervert!” 

"Oh! Sorry, sorry!" Liz gasped, shielding her eyes as she hurried past, giving them a wide berth. 

"You better get the fuck outta here," the woman growled at her. 

"Hey, hey, missy."

Despite her own judgment, Liz stopped and looked back. The pantsed demon was holding up a bill. "I'll pay ya fifty to stay and watch."

"Nonono, no thank you!" Liz rambled as she dashed away. 

She came out onto the open street, her face hot with embarrassment. As much as Liz wanted to stay off the street; she was too afraid of encountering another liaison. Anyway, there were more demons on the street now, so perhaps she can be lost in the crowd as she made her way to Rose Park.

Her phone buzzed, and she quickly answered it. "Hello?"

"Doll, where are ya?" Angel's voice was a relief to hear.

"Oh thank God," she sighed, drawing herself away from a crowd to speak privately. "I had to separate from Marty, but he's safe with a friend in Rose Park. I'm somewhere near P.P. District. Actually, I think I'm there now." 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, did you just fuckin' say P.P. District . . .south of Rose Park?"

"Yeah, I'm going to cut through it to Rose Park."

"No! Christ, doll! Get the fuck outta that distract!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"P.P. stands for Pay t' Play. It's a red light district!"

Liz felt all the blood in her body rush to her face and stomach. Her thoughts went back to what she witnessed in the alley which made sense now. “Shit . . .I’m just cutting through . . .”

"Sweetheart, red light distracts aren't like the ones on Earth. You're either buyin' someone's ass or sellin' your own ass. As long as they pay, customers don’t see why they should take no as an answer. And the hookers will think you're tryin' t' poach their johns and hurt ya."

“Oh, god . . .what . . .what do I do?”

"Go back the way you came . . ."

"I can't. I'm being chased by the demon who broke into our apartment."

“Fuck, fuck . . .shit . . .okay, I’m on my way. Keep headin' north, but keep your fuckin' head down. No matter what, keep walkin' and don't make eye contact with anyone. Someone tries t' hire you, tell 'em you're off the clock. If they keep pushin', tell 'em you work for Valentino and t' back the fuck off."

"That didn't help with those demons Saviathan sent after me."

"Val's name ain't taken lightly in that district. No matter what you see or hear, keep walkin’. Stay out in the open and stay the fuck out of the alleys."

Never before had she been so embarrassed or frightened to walk alone in the city. Being a woman in New York, she's had her share of catcallers, even persistent ones that followed her asking for her phone number. And even had her ass grabbed in the subway or some guy 'accidentally' brushing against her. However, on P.P. District the innuendo was raw with no need to hide intentions between polite misunderstands or intense flirtations or anonymity. 

She tugged her mask up over her nose and turned up the collar of her coat, and then walked briskly along the street with her eyes lowered. 

"Hey, sweetheart! Twenty to see what's under your mask!"

"Oh, baby, don't walk away. Come party with us."

"Keep walkin', sister, this is my corner."

"Babygirl, look this way! C'mon! Don't be scared. I won't bite."

And those were the mild catcalls. 

Thank God she was wearing a mask because she was sure her face would be bright red. She hugged the coat closed around her as if it was a shield, feeling eyes on her as she went. Surely, she wasn't the only meat on the street? Was it just her drawing this much attention, or was she so self-conscious it seemed that way? 

Sex shops and strip joints lined either side of the street. Crude sex toys and barely there lingerie filled display windows. Some demons didn't bother going to the privacy of an alley or a hotel before receiving services from hookers. An orange demon moaned while a smaller red demon performed fellatio on his knees. A grey skinned female sighed lustily as her partner took her from behind. Liz looked away from them, despite open invitations for her to join them. 

It diverted her attention from the demon coming up behind her. Liz gasped when her ass was grabbed and pinched so hard it made her yelp. Dancing away, she turned back and saw a badger-like demon with a dark stripe from the end of his long nose towards the back of his head grin wickedly at her and then flick a long tongue at her. 

"I can make you cum for thirty bucks, baby," he promised. 

"No, no, thank you," she turned away, ignoring the sting in her ass. 

To her horror, he followed her. "Alright, twenty-five."

"No." She tried to quicken her pace, but he grabbed her arm, hauling her back around to face him.

"Okay, twenty bucks.” He acquiesced as if in a favor to her. “C'mon, lady, I got a quota to fill."

"I don't have any money!" She yelled, trying to wrench herself free.

"No money?” His eyes narrowed, irritated he had wasted his time with her. “Then get fuck outta here!" 

He shoved her away and kicked her ass hard enough to send Liz sprawling across the pavement. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and the hellphone fell from her pocket, skidded on the street, and then disappeared when a hand snatched it up. Liz tried to holler at the thief, but her lungs were gulping air. The phone was long gone by the time she caught her breath and with it any means of texting or calling the others along with the map. 

"Shit," she moaned. 

"Need some help?' A clawed hand lowered before her invitingly.

Liz knew better than to accept the help and crawled away, getting to her feet by herself and then continuing along the street. She just had to keep going in one direction, and it will eventually lead her out of the district. 

She walked unhindered for ten minutes, and it was a long, long ten minutes. From left to right, she was sexually propositioned in the crudest terms she ever heard. Scantily clad hookers either pitched their services to her or shot her suspicious glares. Johns eyed her, imagining her without her clothes, and offered her money for sexual favors. 

"C'mon, honey, you're my type. Three hundred dollars and I'll treat you to dinner."

"Are you cold, pretty little thing? Come on over and I'll warm ya up for fifty dollars."

"Hey, sister, wanna go for a ride?"

She felt cleaner down in the sewers than she did above ground here. Was she giving off an air of vulnerability? And the demons around her were picking up on it like blood to a shark? 

Holy shit, she realized, this was Hell . . .all the people who were sent Hell for being perverts, rapists, and being sexual deviants were likely in this District! People who refused to take no for an answer had turned into demons who still did not accept no as an answer! The epiphany made her bones shake in terror, realizing for the first time just how dangerous this place was for her. 

Liz had never been the victim of sexual violence but had seen the aftermath of enough cases to be terrified. Women have had their jaws broken, eyes kicked out, and limbs dislocated - not to mention being shot, stabbed, or choked. Victims have even been gang-raped to death.

She didn't realize she was being followed until a long arm snaked around her shoulders. Before she could react, something sharp prodded her ribs, making her squeeze against the hard body behind her to get as far away from it as possible. 

"Been watching you, cutie," a deep graveled voice murmured affectionately. "Acting as if you're too good for everyone."

"I'm going home," Liz whispered. "I'm. . . I'm off the clock."

"Could always use a few extra bucks, right?" 

"I work for Valentino . . . I'm off the clock," she said, hoping it would make the demon back off.

There was a long pause, and as she believed he was going to let her go, his grip tightened on her. "I'll be sure to pay ya extra. C'mon."

“N-no . . .” 

He was walking in long strides, taking her along with him, almost carrying her. Liz looked around frantically, hoping someone would see she was in trouble. She caught a few eyes, but one winked at her while another dismissed her with an eye roll. No one gave a shit.

And that scared her more than anything since she arrived in Hell. Not the killer robots, the white demon, Seviathan, or the goons he fired, but the apathy towards her assault. The bastard could shove her onto the street and rip off her clothes, and the most she could hope for was their annoyance it was taking space on the walkway. 

"There's a hotel at the end of the block," her attacker said, drawing Liz along with him closer to the storefronts. "I think you'll like it. It has clean beds and showers."

"Please, no, I . . . I'm not a hooker."

"But you said you were off the clock, cutie."

"I was never on the clock."

"Oh." He didn't slow down one bit. "I'll still pay ya."

Thinking fast, Liz said quickly, "Don't you want to see my face first?"

Then he looked directly at her. She could see he had a long, angular noseless face with white pupils against red sclera. "Yeah, are you a boy or a girl?"

While he was distracted, not looking where he was going, she shoved him into another demon who was propositioning a hooker. Instantly, the offended party rounded on her attacker, who then needed his knife to defend himself. Liz didn't bother to see what happened. She took off, running in a mad panic down the street.

People cursed at her as she sprinted, even tried to hit her when she rebounded off larger bodies. All she wanted was to put as much distance between her and the demon as possible. What if he was running after her now? Liz risked looking behind her and didn't see any pursuit. 

She slowed to a stop, breathing heavily to catch her breath. How much further before she left this nightmare behind? How far away was Rose Park? Damn, if only she had her phone . . .

It was too crowded on the street. She needed to get somewhere she could breathe and look around. She pushed her way between tall bodies, feeling like a lost child trying to find her parents among adults. Why were demons so damn tall!? The mask across her mouth and nose made the air stifling, and the press of bodies was suffocating. She needed to breathe! 

She managed to push through a wall of the crowd into a clearing. Bending double, she practiced her breathing exercises—deep breaths in through the nose and out the mouth over and over until she caught her breath. 

There was a scarlet limo parked next to the curb. A female prostitute stood at the open passenger and handed money to a black-gloved hand with white fur cuff. Liz noticed the wall of people she had egressed was standing at a respectful distance from the limo, and she was standing almost center of the empty space. 

The hooker glanced at Liz, exchanged a few words with whoever was in the limo, and then walked off into the crowd. Ruby red eyes burned bright through heart shaped frames glinting like gold in the street light. They studied the slight figure of Liz with an analytical appraisement. 

Unaware of being watched, Liz assessed herself and found the hole in the coat, where her attacker had held the knife against her ribs. She checked herself and found no hole in Marty's shirt, nor was she injured. God, how close did she come to being stabbed when she shoved that guy? 

No, she had to keep moving. She was almost out of the district by now. 

The limo door opened as she walked by. Red smoke rose from the darkness, wavering in the air, forming serpentine figures. "Need a ride, sugar?"

Why can't she be left alone? She looked away, careful not to give away any body sign that could be mistaken as interest. "No."

"Ya sure? Ya don't look so good. Like a scared kitten who lost her mama."

Her step faltered to a stop. The smoke smelled sweet and familiar, sending a warmth cascading through her chest and stomach. It felt thick like melted candy coating her insides. It felt good, comforting like a warm heavy blanket fresh from a dryer wrapping around her. 

A red gleam shone brightly within the limo as a long finger hand caressed the heart shape ruby set atop of a black cane. "You’ll be safe in here, sugar."

And she believed it. The voice was low, deep, and paternal with an allure that tugged at something deep inside her that wasn't fear. The promise of relief and safety drew her like a ship to a beacon . . .a moth to a flame. Before she realized it, her feet were carrying towards the limo’s open door. 

An ebony gloved hand with reddish hue fingertips extended from the limo's black interior, the white fur cuff almost glowing like snow under a starry sky. "That's a good girl. Daddy will keep ya safe."

The mention of 'Daddy' called up Marty's memory and she stopped short of several yards from the limo and the inviting hand. She hadn't thought of him so long, not since she arrived in the red light district. Shit, what if he was dead now? Died without her by his side as she had been there when her mother passed. 

"I . . .I have to go," she turned away.

"C'mon, baby, lemme take you where ya need t' go."

She had had enough. Fury overtook the fear, and she turned on her heel, shouting, "I said no, goddammit! Why the fuck can't anyone in this goddamn district understand the word no!? I work for Valentino, I'm off the clock, so fuck off!"

She shoved her way back into the crowd, uncaring if she stepped on toes or tails as she went. 

The limo door remained opened, and a pair of heart shape shades caught the light of the lamppost, flashing bright red. "Is that a fact?"

A pink smile with a golden tooth glowed brightly in the darkness.

***

This time, she didn't walk but jogged as a fast-moving target was harder to grab than a slow-moving one. However, she couldn't keep it up for long. The night's events were catching up with her, and eventually, she would be drained of energy. Her hands were shaking, so she tucked them into her armpits. The handcuff that had been hanging off her right wrist this whole time pressed into her side but Liz wouldn't allow herself to care. Every bit of what was left of her energy was focused on getting her out of this horrible district. 

A car horn sounded behind her. She moved away from the road, believing it meant that she was walking too close to the curb. It honked again, and she heard the engine rev up. She looked back, expecting it was the red limo, but instead, it was an old brown sedan. Liz kept going at a faster pace, staying well on the street, but heeded Angel’s warning of staying away from any alley.

The car horn went off, longer this time as the car sped up until it was beside her. A window rolled down, and a leering sharp tooth face peered at her from within. "Hey, baby, wanna go for a ride."

"No, I'm off the clock."

"C'mon, we can give ya a ride home."

"Fuck off." 

"Ohhh, this one has a mouth.” The driver jeered and she caught the silhouette of a horned head. “I wanna see what it looks like under the mask."

"Leave me alone."

"Don't be like that." 

Liz was standing well away from the curb and didn't see a need to panic as no one had opened a car door. Unfortunately, this was Hell, and these weren't normal men harassing her. An impossibly long arm shot from the open window, and a talon snagged her arm, pulling her towards the car.

"Stop! No!" She shrieked, digging her heels in. "I said no!"

"We’re saying yes!"

_ God, if they get me in that car . . .I’ll be at their mercy...and they none.  _

There was sick laughter from within, taking amusement in her desperation to get free. She felt like fish caught on a line being reeled into the fisher. Her blunt nails clawed at the thick-skinned hand, barely causing any damage. What if she lowered the mask and bit him? 

Before she could try it, a black spiked bat came down hard on the long arm. Blood splattered her face and clothes, but as much as it disgusted her, it didn't compare to the satisfaction she received from the scream i cause. The arm released her amid curses and threats with a promise of retribution. This was answered when a shotgun was unloaded into the backseat window just as the door was opening. More screams ensued, and the car sped off with shouts echoing down the street as it went.

The white demon adjusted his hat and regarded her where she had landed on her ass. "Had fun?"

"Fuck you."

"Well, this is the District for it." He shrugged and then took her face in his hand and examined her. "I see this District has taken its toll . . .seen somethings? Have some things happened to you?"

She smacked his hand away, revulsion crawling over her skin. "Don't touch me."

He caught her wrist, it was the one with the handcuff, and simply snapped the open cuff around his own wrist. "No more running. It's been fun, but I need to get paid."

God, it sickened her how much relief she was feeling at the thought that she now had a guardian of sorts. "Just . . .get me out of this district."

He hauled her up by the cuff, took off his hat, and shoved it onto her head. It almost covered her eyes, but the brim served as a means to hide the upper half of her face like a visor. "Let's go."

Pay to Play District became a different world now that she had been 'claimed.' Hardly anyone took notice of her, and no one tried to proposition her. She was mostly ignored, save for a few eyes imagining her clothless. A few hookers tried to entice the white demon away from her, promising they had more to offer than the scrawny shrimp by his side. The white demon didn't glimpse in their direction, and had a hand on his spiked bat at all times.

And just like that, they left the P.P. District behind them. Liz felt cleaner, able to breathe clearly upon leaving that place behind and vow she would NEVER go back there again. 

They weren't the only ones leaving the district. There was a group of demons laughing and chatting in deep grunts among themselves. They reminded her of frat boys leaving a party to go to another party for another round of drinks and sex. Seeing them, she felt her spirit returning to her.

Perhaps her compliance had the white demon lower his guard, or maybe her plan was so crazy that he never imagined it himself. He didn't react in time to stop Liz when she stepped forward, and slapped the ass of the biggest demon as hard as she could.

There was an offended yelp from the demon, and the group rounded on them. The white demon peered down at her, his single large eye large with the question of ‘what the fuck?’ 

She returned his look with a question of her own. "Why did you do that?"

"Hey! Pal, I ain't on the fuckin' menu!"

"The P.P. District is thatta way, asshole!"

"Wanna teach this fag a lesson?"

The white demon went for his shotgun, but she used the cuff to pull on his arm hard, off balancing him. This gave the demons the opening they needed, and they were on him. Liz kept her head down and used all her strength to keep the white demon from being able to use his arm to defend himself. He was literally fighting with only one arm. The shotgun and black bat clattered to the ground. Ducking down kept her safer from a stray fist as she reached for the bat.

She could break his hand and free herself. However, before she could reach for it, the white demon was thrown across the pavement, taking her with him. Their hands scraped the pavement, and she nearly broke her wrist in the fight. Despite her efforts, a boot stamp stomped her fingers, and she shrieked. God, she may be beaten to death alongside the bastard. 

Somehow, perhaps by the mercy of God, the black bat rolled towards her free hand. Grabbing it, she raised it with one hand to smack the blunt end into the white demon's hand but stopped when she came face to face with a leering demon kneeling down to eye her while his companions pummeled the white demon. 

"Wanna get free?"

"Yeah . . ."

With a wink, he reached down, grabbed the white demon's hand, and promptly dislocated the thumb. There was a pained grunt from the white demon, but the cuff slipped off the injured hand. 

"Now how about you thank me with a kiss?"

"Kiss this!" 

Liz shoved the end of the bat into the asshole's face. There was a crunch as bone and teeth were broken. Before there could be any retaliation, Liz was running again.

***

There was a growing bruise around her wrist. Her feet were sore, and if she lived through tonight, then she may have to deal with blisters. And not to mention, she was exhausted both physically and emotionally. All her adrenaline was gone, and it took an effort to force her feet to keep walking.

Where was Rose Park? Shouldn't a city have maps around for tourists? Well, this was Hell, after all. Why make it easy for anyone?

Even the bat felt heavy in her hands, but she didn’t dare go without it. 

Terror shot through her chest when a horn honked. She looked behind her, bat wielded in both hands, as a limo came up the street. It was white with a gruesome sharp tooth maw at the front. She was too tired to run anymore, almost too tired to lift the bat. 

The limo was pulling up along the curb, and a window was rolling down.

"Leave me alone!" She screamed in near hysteria. "Get the fuck away from me! I'm off the fucking clock! I'm not a hooker! Get away from me!"

"Liz! Liz! It's me!" Angel Dust was opening the door, leaning out to usher her inside. "Doll, why the fuck haven't ya answered yer phone!? We've been callin' and sending texts for the last hour!"

From behind Angel, Jesse peeked out. "Liz! Your dad is in here and he's okay. . .I think . . ."

The tension between her shoulders since the white demon first grabbed her in the apartment melted away. Tears flowed down her face and she experienced relief so powerful it made her lightheaded. 

"Jesus, doll, are you okay?"

"No . . ." she whimpered. "No, I'm not okay."

__


	23. Arc 4: Liz Alone - Exodus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is bit of a transitional chapter, but hopefully you'll enjoy it.

"I need to get off here."

"What? Why?"

Jesse had his face pressed to the window for the last ten minutes, turned to her with a dejected look. "I have to go back to CandyLand before they notice I'm missing."

"Before who notices?"

The limo was already slowing down without any sign or word from Angel Dust. When it came to a stop, Jesse opened the door. "I hope your dad gets better soon, Liz."

"Wait, Jesse, let me get your number first." Liz reached into her pocket, then frowned when she recalled she had lost her phone on P.P. District. 

"It's okay," Jesse handed Marty's phone to her as he stepped outside. "We aren't allowed hellphones in CandyLand anyway."

"What?"

"Bye, Liz!" Jesse left the limo with a hop and ran down the street. 

Liz wanted to go after him, wanted to chase him down and make him explain about CandyLand's creed against phones, but she was just too tired. Her eyes were still red from crying.

When she came inside the limo and could comprehend that she was safe, she broke down into sobs. A torrent of emotions had been building inside her, dammed back by the determination to survive. When she could let down her guard, at last, she allowed herself to feel the terror and humiliation she endured during her walk up P.P. District. 

Shamelessly, she clung to Angel Dust as if he were a rescue guard saving her from a flooding river. Angel didn't say anything and let her cry it out, his face clouded with a grim countenance, which was unusual for his carefree grins. He knew what she had gone through, perhaps better than she did. 

She calmed down when she saw Marty stretched along with a padded seat with Jesse sitting on the floor next to him. Liz moved towards them, first hugging Jesse tightly. His long arms curled around her, giving her a sense of safety and camaraderie despite being reunited after years apart. 

"I'm glad you're okay," Jesse murmured.

"Thank you for looking after my father," Liz swallowed, looking down at Marty, who looked no better than he had on the kitchen floor hours ago. 

His skin was cold to the touch and several shades paler than usual. The injuries had stopped bleeding but were no less raw and horrid to see. As much as she wanted Marty to wake up, she saw his unconsciousness as a small mercy to keep him from suffering. 

Jesse had camped out with Marty in Rose Park under a gazebo with high hedges to offer concealment. Angel Dust had to get out of the limo, walk the park to find them, and it was only by Jesse recognizing him from the few porn magazines that made it into CandyLand that kept Angel from getting a faceful of spray paint. Together, they moved Marty into the limo and headed for P.P. District to look for Liz. 

After Jesse departed, the white limo resumed the drive to Grinder St. Liz avoided looking out the window. Though she was away, and hopefully going further away, from P.P. District, she still felt that place’s grime on her body. As if the eyes were still on her, assessing her as a piece of meat and she could smell the breath of the demon who forced her to go along with him. Oh god, was she having a flashback? 

With an agility impossible for humans, or for most demons, Angel Dust reached under the seats. "Siddown, doll, I'm gettin' something' for ya."

"What?" She moved into the seat close to Marty's head, making sure he was as comfortable as possible. 

Like pulling a bushel of potatoes from the earth, Angel Dust produced a large plastic bag of miniature bottles from where it had been taped beneath the seat. He opened it with the delight of a child receiving a gift and offered her one of the bottles. "Drink up."

"No, I'm good."

"Doll, ya still shakin' like a junkie comin’ off his high," Angel shook the bottle at her. "Ya needa strong drink in ya."

Liz's mouth opened to protest until she noticed her hands were quivering on her knees. They were very white and almost bloodless as she opened and closed them. She accepted the bottle and unscrewed the tiny cap, and down it in two swallows. The kickback was harsh, making her choke and cough, but it warmed her, settling her nerves and eased the shaking in her hands.

Angel had down three of the miniatures and unscrewed another. "That Young-ho?"

"Yeah, but he goes by Jesse now. I knew him before … before he died." A finger of regret skimmed over her heart. "He's the kid I made the bet with and got the swan tattoo." 

"Oh yeah?" Angel was feigning polite interest, but his eyes were studying her face, searching for something. "Are ya okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine now," Liz said, trying hard not to shiver. The drink was still warm in her gut, but her ordeals in P.P. District was like a slab of ice at her back. 

"Are ya?"

She didn't need to look at him to know he was studying her, looking for signs of assault. He knew the P.P. District well, and the sort of place it was and her panicked state revealed how deeply it had disturbed her. She glanced at Marty, who was still deeply asleep.

"The kid ain't here no more and Marty can't hear ya. Whateva ya tell me stays between us."

"I wasn't raped. No one . . .no one got that far . . ." Fear squeezed her heart as she recalled being kicked, kidnapped by knifepoint, and nearly dragged into a car. She wasn't ready to talk about it now. Needed time to process it a bit more before she could give it words.

As if sensing she didn't wish to speak of, he changed the subject. "Where ya get the souvenirs?" 

He indicated the spiked bat leaning against the seat near the door with the White Demon's hat over the knob. Her encounter with the White Demon was benign compared to P.P. District. "The guy chasing me caught up to me, but I managed to get away with some of his stuff."

"Ya know why he's after you?"

"A client is paying him to grab me." Liz rubbed her knees and winced as they stung where she had landed on the pavement. She must be covered in bruises beneath her clothes. 

"Ya think Seviathan sent 'em? Or I.M.P?"

"I don't think so," Liz drew her knees against her chest, thinking. "Seviathan sent those guys to hurt me, but this guy said his client wanted me unharmed. He even came to my rescue to keep me from being . . . from being hurt and he wasn't an imp.” 

Angel was examining his nails in a thoughtful manner. "Maybe the client who hired I.M.P. changed their mind? Heard ya was in Hell and decides they want t' do the deed themselves?"

"That is a thought . . .but it doesn't feel right. There were a hundred things he could have done to force me to go with him, but he didn't. . .in fact, he initially tried to steal me away from the apartment while Marty was asleep. Whoever his client is, he knows I'm human and wanted me brought to him quietly."

"If he's after ya cuz of that, then the list is gonna be long," Angel shrugged. "Lots of demons out there wouldn't mind havin' a pet human."

"Oh, god, please don't say that." She looked around at the interior of the limo. "Who's limo is this?"

"Ah, uh, borrowed it from a friend," Angel shifted with a shrug. "They . . .they don't know I took it."

"Whoa, you're not going to be in trouble, are you?"

"Nah, prolly just get a talkin' to or yell out. Depends on whether it's Princess Soft Spot or Mean Taco." Angel Dust eyed the bag, decided against having another drink, sealed it, and returned it beneath the seat.

"What if . . .what if he comes after us? We tried to take Marty's car, but he shot out the tires."

"Honey, he's gonna hafta t' have a set of balls t' take a potshot at this limo," Angel flashed her a bright smile. "It's the Royal Family's limo."

It clicked together for her, and her eyes widened. "Princess Charlie runs the Happy Hotel . . .oh, god, we're in her limo?"

"Yeah, and she won't stock liquor in here," Angel muttered in deep annoyance. 

***

The limo parked close to the curb in front of the blue warehouse on Grinder Street. God, after everything it took to get here, it was like reaching the Promised Land or Nirvana. Liz tied the cravat around her face and, after a thought, placed the white hat on her head. It wasn't a bad idea to shield her eyes under the brim. 

She rapped on the door five times. A slot opened, and a pair of green eyes regarded her suspiciously with her mask and hat.

"Dogwood," she said.

The door opened, and a green demon with long horns that spiral over his shoulders regarded her distrustfully. "Who you be?"

"I'm Marty's daughter. Is Shard here? He said Marty and I would be protected here." 

He gave her a narrowed look as he punched a text into his phone. Liz waited, hugging the coat around her tightly until Shard hurried up a set of stairs in the back. He saw and recognized Liz, shoulder past her, and headed for the limo in long strides. 

"Is Marty inside?" He barked without looking at her, his eyes only for the limo.

"Yes, but he's. . ." Liz had to trot to keep up. ". . .he's been hurt."

Shard opened the limo door and went inside, almost shutting the door on her. Liz shoved the door out of the way and climbed in after him, determined to be there to explain what happened. Shard bent over Marty's prone body, trying to get him to wake up by shaking an arm and patting the unharmed part of his face.

"Sonvubitch," Shard hissed, taking in Marty's injuries. "What the fuck happened t' him?"

"I told you," Liz said, coming around him to sit on the floor close to Marty, despite that she was almost sitting on Shard's foot to do so. "The demon who broke into our apartment hurt him."

"Why is he still down!?" Shard hissed. "That was hours ago. Marty should be up and about by now."

"I . . .he . . ." Liz couldn't bring herself to say it.

Shard looked down at her, his eyes large brown eyes and accusing. "Out with it, little girl."

She touched Marty's hand to assure herself he was still alive. “He was . . .the demon had . . .he used . . .”

"Liz," Angel said, sitting up from his lounging position. There was something in his eyes that scared her. "Liz, what happened t' Marty?"

"He was stabbed . . .with an angel knife."

It was the silence after glass shattered, and that terrified her. Both Shard and Angel looked at each other, and something passed between them, a knowledge that Liz shared but refused to acknowledge. Angel crossed over to them and tenderly undid the sheet around Marty's waist. The sheet stuck to his body by the congealed blood and made a wet rasp when it was lifted.

Both demons stared down at the wound on Marty's chest for a long time before Angel replaced the sheet. Liz felt her pulse throbbing in her neck, not liking the grim looks on their faces. Angel's expression was regretful, while Shard's face was sunken, almost dark with untold emotion.

“Is . . .is it bad?” Liz asked.

“Baby . . .it’s . . .we’re gonna chat outside for a bit,” Angel said.

Shard was already getting out of the limo without a word. Angel followed him, but Liz was right behind him. "No. No, you're not going to treat me like a child you protect from the truth. Tell me how bad it is!"

Her attention was on Angel, so she didn't see Shard coming at her. He seized her by the shoulders and shoved her against the limo. His teeth were bare as if to tear out her throat, and eyes flashed with fury and grief.

"He's dead, you ignorant little bitch! Angel weapons are lethal to demons! His body can't heal itself! He won't make it to morning!"

"T-then, let's get him to a hospital!" Liz shouted.

Shard shoved her against the limo again, but this time with enough force to rock the vehicle. "You stupid shit! There are no hospitals for demons in Hell! Haven't you been paying attention since you dropped down here!?"

"Hey, hey, back offa her," Angel said, grabbing Shard by the shoulder, but his hand was slung off. 

"No! This is her fuckin' fault! Marty always played it safe until his little cum stain landed at his doorstep!" Shard roared seizing Liz by the hair and dragged her off her feet. She struggled as several hairs were pulled from her scalp, and she grappled at his wrist, trying to free herself. 

"Shard! Cut this bullshit!" Angel yelled.

"Marty always did as he was told, but he fuckin' changed when you showed up. Making dumbass choices like goin' after the goddamn Radio Demon because of you!" He flung her against the warehouse wall. She managed to catch herself before she could collide with the brick surface, but a hand against her back shoved her against it.

"Marty would never have been stabbed if it wasn't for you," Shard hissed into her ear. "No one sent that asshole after Marty. They sent him after you and he's dead because of it. I oughta snap your neck and put you out of everyone's misery."

"Try it." There were a series of clicks and metallic rings behind them. Both Shard and Liz looked to see Angel Dust with each of his eight hands holding a weapon aimed at Shard. "Step away from her. Right fuckin' now."

Shard stepped away from Liz, his face sapped of fury to cold resignation. Liz was shaking so hard she held onto the wall to steady herself. 

"Liz, doll, get in the limo."

"O-okay," she whispered and did as she was told.

"We're leavin'," Angel said coldly.

"You can leave Marty with me," Shard said, boldly taking a few steps towards the open door. "I'll keep him comfortable until he . . ."

"No, he's comin' with us," Angel said, tartly as he backed into the limo, keeping all guns on Shard. "Don't know the guy well, but I figure he'd wanna spend the last moments he's got with his daughter."

The door shut, and the limo pulled away from the curb, leaving Shard behind, staring after them. Angel put away his weapons, brushed his hair out of his face, and looked at the small figure huddled next to Marty weeping pitifully.

Liz pressed her face into her folded arms atop of her knees, shoulders heaving as she sobbed. Angel went to the seat, pulled out the hidden bags of miniatures, and held them out to her. "Here. Drink as many as ya like . . .waitaminute though," he pulled out a handful and stuck them into his jacket. "Okay, now."

"No, no, I'm. . ." Liz barely lifted her face. “I’m sorry . . .I’m not usually this emotional . . .”

"Dollface, yer home was broken into, yer pop was stabbed, ya was chased around the city, went through the P.P. District, and just had that asshole blame ya for somethin' dat ain't yer fault. You get as emotional as ya wanna be."

Tears ran down her face as she accepted the bag. She helped herself to two bottles, which helped her stop shaking, but she had so many questions. What was going to happen now? Was Marty going to die? Where would they go now? 

"Angel . . .where are we going?"

"Not t' your apartment, that's for damn sure," Angel sighed. "I'm gonna catch a lotta shit for this, but can't be helped."

"Where are we going?" Liz repeated, feeling too tired for patience.

"A safe place," Angel promised. "It's a place no one can just sneak into and cause trouble."

"Where?"

"The Happy Hotel."

  
  



	24. Arc 5: Welcome to the Happy Hotel - Guest Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz finally arrives at a safe place, but still suffers from her ordeals.

The alcohol lulled Liz into a few sleep where she dreamed of running away from an eye with a bright white X for a pupil while talons and claws grabbed at her arms and hair. She was screaming, begging for anyone to save her. Before her, a red limo shined brightly like fresh blood, and the back door opened, revealing a cavernous maw expelling red smoke into her face. 

She gasped, sitting up, and frightened, thinking she was inside the red limo! Within seconds, the night's events came back to her, and she quickly checked on Marty, fearful he had passed while she slept. She took relief when his nostrils flared slightly as beautiful proof he was still alive, or whatever it could be called in Hell. He was still cold, and she regretted he didn't have a blanket over him to keep him warm. 

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Angel! It's 3:00 in the fuckin' mornin'." A deep raspy voice groused from outside. 

Liz looked out the window and saw two figures approaching. One she recognized as Angel Dust, but the other was a stranger. She quickly pulled up the cravat mask and donned the white hat, and waited.

"I know, I know, just keep ya voice down, will ya?" Angel poked his head through the open door. "Ya awake, Liz?"

"Yes," Liz said, feeling a bit protective of Marty. "Who is out there?"

"It's just Husky. He runs the receptionist desk in the hotel."

"It's Husk! Don't tell 'em t' call me that shit." The voice certainly did not carry the courteous nor professionalism she would expect from a receptionist. 

Angel continued speaking as he hadn't been interrupted. "Husky's gonna help move Marty. He's a cool dude."

Liz realized she had positioned herself in front of Marty in an unconscious effort to protect him. She shifted aside, relinquishing her father to their hands, but relunctantly. "Okay, be careful with him."

Angel entered and was followed by "Husk'' who was a tuxedo cat breed demon with red wings bedecked in poker symbols. Dark sclera with yellow pupils eyed her with annoyance and then widened in shock at Marty's state. "Jesus, what happened t' this clown? He lost a fight?"

"Yeah, kinda," Angel said dodgingly. "Ya gonna help or what?"

"Help with what?" Husk muttered, eyeing Marty. "I thought ya got a client too wasted t' go home and needed help bringin' him in. Not bury a body!"

"He's not dead!" Liz snapped with more vehemence than she intended. "He just hurt and … sleeping it off!" That sounded weak and stupid to her. 

The cat demon looked at Marty's condition, scanned over Liz's red-rimmed eyes (the only visible part of her face), and then glared at Angel, who suddenly found the ceiling interesting. "Yeah, this time I'm gonna need an explanation for this shit."

"C'mon, Husky," Angel said, batting his eyes and leaning forward to caress Husk's face. "One of the reasons I like ya is ya don't ask questions."

"Because I don't give a shit," Husk retorted, his ears laid back just like an angry cat's, Liz noticed. He jabbed a razor claw at Angel's chest puff as he spoke. "And keepin' my mouth shut keeps me out of bullshit, but this, right here, is more bullshit than I can dodge. What the fuck is goin' on, Angel?"

Liz chewed her lower lip, looking between the spider and the cat as they locked eyes in a small confrontation. Shaking her head, she made a decision. "A guy broke into our apartment and stabbed him with a holy weapon."

The long red eyebrows swept up in tall arches. "No shit? Christ . . .no wonder he's fucked up. Angel . . .what the fuck?"

"Are ya gonna help me get 'im inside or ain't ya?" Angel muttered, growing impatient. 

"It might be better t' dig a hole instead," Husk rasped at him. 

"Husk," Angel's eyes hardened. "The lady is his kid."

"So?"

"He's not dead!" Liz snapped. "He's. . .he'll be fine. He just needs rest."

"Like a dirt nap," Husk rejoined. "Look, sweetheart, where was he stabbed?"

"I-in the chest," Liz said. 

"Then he's a goner. If it was in the arm or leg, then he might have a chance, but there's no comin' back from getting hit in the vital area like the chest."

"But he's. . .he's not dead," Liz said, desperately. 

"Only a matter of time and in that time, he's suffering. His body can't heal itself. Jesus, Angel, ya shoulda told her this . . .ya know this better than me..."

Something cold and hard squeezed her throat. It was like trying to breathe through a mouthful of cotton being shoved down her throat, drowning her. Marty was going to die. Shard was right. The White Demon would never have gone into the apartment if not for her. He would never have gotten his hands on a holy weapon if not for her. None of this would have happened if the imps had just killed her that first night. 

She couldn't breathe. She pulled down the cravat and took several deep gasps for air, which came out in rough sobs. 

"Shit," Husk breathed.

"Husky, ya can't tell . . ."

"No fuckin' shit I ain't tellin'. That's too much bullshit! But goddammit, how?"

"Long story, but . . ."

"I changed my mind. I don't wanna know, but this is all on you!"

Their voices were barely a sururus to the torrent of grief and sadness overwhelming her. The thought, the conception of losing Marty, hurt too damn much. 

Years ago, when Mom told her she would no longer undergo treatment for her cancer, that she was ready to die, Liz had been furious! Told her she was giving up, taking the easy way out, and leaving her daughter behind. However, under the anger was the terrifying fear of being alone. Her mother was the only family she had, the only person she was close to, and losing her had sent her into depression for almost a year. 

She couldn't imagine anything could be worse until now. Marty was . . . Marty was everything to her now. Over a few short days, and almost getting killed several times, she formed a bond with him. Something had been missing in her life, and she never realized it until she connected with him, despite the most unusual circumstances. 

"Hey, move." A furry body was nudging her out of the way.

Whatever was discussed between Angel and Husk had reached its conclusion, and they both lifted Marty off the seat. She wiped her eyes with the cravat and pulled it into place across her mouth and nose. Then she put on the white hat and adjusted it to shield her eyes.

The hotel made her think of a child building a tower by stacking blocks. It was an asymmetrical nightmare she supposed was held together by some sort of Hellish magic, or it would topple into a mess of broken wood and stone. She could make out a merry go round, the front of a wrecked ship, and at the front was an iron train. At the top in a garish light bulb sign was Hazbin Hotel above a cat-like eye that seemed to peer down at them. Likely, it was. 

"Isn't it supposed to be called the Happy Hotel?" Liz asked, looking up at the sign above the door. 

"Yeah? So?" Husk grunted. 

Both Angel and Husk had Marty's arms pulled across their shoulders. Angel used his lower hands to open the door, and Liz followed the demons inside. The interior of the hotel was comfortably warm and spacious. Liz was impressed with how clean the lobby was with a lemony scent to it. There were paintings, but the lobby was too dim to make out any details. 

By the door was a wooden podium with an open leather-bound book. At the top of the pages, in italic script, was Guest Book. There was only one signature: Angel Dust in calligraphy style with a lipstick kiss mark beside it.

"Where to?" Husk grunted.

"The room next to mine is clean."

"They're all fuckin' clean. Nifty cleans all the rooms every day."

"How does she . . .nevermind."

Liz glanced between them and the Guest Book, and on a sudden whim, she picked up the pen and signed:

_ Elizabeth 'Liz' Carter _

_ Martin 'Marty' Roberts _

They can't kick us out if we're guests, she thought as she followed the demons up the stairs. She couldn't help carrying Marty, but she could carry his tail, so it didn't smack each of the steps as they went.

"When is Charlie comin' back from her folks?" Angel Dust asked.

"Dunno. I think inna coupla days," Husk muttered. "Been damn peaceful . . . until now!"

Liz never saw hallways so long and with no many rooms side by side. It reminded her of those micro-apartment complexes in Asia with tiny living quarters side by side. However, when Angel Dust opened the room door, she was shocked by how large it was. It was the size of a master bedroom with a sizable bathroom with room for a toilet, tub, and countersink. 

Husk and Angel put Marty on the king-size bed. Once the job was done, Husk went downstairs grumbling about going back to sleep, and Angel Dust stayed and watched her tuck the blankets in around Marty's body. At least he could be warm while he recovered . . .because he was going to recover from this!

"Doll, go take a shower."

“No, I’m . . .I took one earlier before . . .I mean yesterday . . .” 

"Liz," Angel's voice was firmer this time. "You're still shaking. Go take a shower. Imma get you a few things while you do."

"Oh . . ." she looked down at her hands, and sure enough, they were quivering. "Am I in shock?" 

"Yeah, ya are. Just go take a shower. The bathrooms are stocked with soap and a robe . . .shit, one sec."

He left the room and returned a minute later with a hairpin. With a few flicks of his wrist, he unlocked the handcuff around her wrist, which exposed the bruised skin beneath. 

Then she did as Angel said and took a shower. Shucking off her clothes, she stood before a full-size mirror and surveyed the damage from the bottom up. Her feet were sore with blisters forming on her soles, her shins were still red from when she fell after the demon prostitute had kicked her, and there was a purplish bruise on the back of her thigh where his foot had connected. There was a ring of bruises on her upper arms. The White Demon had squeezed her arm, and the demon in the car had tried to drag her inside. The heels of her hands were scraped from the times she had fallen. Her fingers were still sore from being stepped on. And a fresh bruise on her cheek when the White Demon had backhanded her during his fight with Marty.

And her eyes . . .they were so large and . . .not hers. Had her eyes ever looked this tired and sad? It was like an old woman's eyes, the survivor of war and trauma. 

_ I had survived trauma . . .a lifetime's worth in one night. I was nearly kidnapped, my father almost murdered, chased by a bounty hunter, and almost sexually assaulted.  _

_ Been watching you, cutie. _

_ I can make you cum for thirty bucks, baby. _

_ Need a ride, sugar? _

Tears flowed freely as she began sobbing. She sat on the toilet and let herself weep over the horrible night and P.P. District. She processed her worry for Marty and fear of the White Demon being out there, likely still hunting for her. There was a demon who wanted her dead, and another wanted her for some purpose she didn't dare guess. 

Once she had no more tears, she turned on the shower, setting the water to as hot as she could stand. Bathing was cathartic, like she was washing away the P.P. District's taint and easing the pains of all her hurts. It was okay to cry, she told herself; it was the beginning of processing trauma and healing.

Angel Dust was waiting for her with nightclothes, which was a couple sizes too big for her. Something his friend Cherri Bomb had left behind after spending a night. And he also deposited a green tablet into her palm. 

"What is this?"

"It's a tranq," Angel Dust replied. "It'll help you sleep."

"I don't know if I need that."

"Doll, you need to rest. You literally went through Hell tonight."

It was no bigger than the tip of her finger and shaped into a long oval. Holding it cupped in her hand, she said, "Angel, I . . . I need to talk about . . .what happened tonight. On P.P. District . . ."

The pink spider drew a deep breath. "Were you . . .look, you don't have to . . ."

"I wasn't raped," she said quickly, shaking her head. 

"But someone tried," he said knowingly. His lower arms were crossed across his stomach, and his upper arms were lighting a cigarette. He took a deep drag and expelled a stream of red smoke between his lips. "Doll, ya don't hafta talk about it."

"I don't want to . . ." Liz said, pressing her lips together. "But I've been around enough victims of sexual assault to know that pretending it never happened isn't healthy."

"Why not talk to your pops about it?"

Liz blinked. "Hell, no. I don't want him to know I was anywhere near that place. You saw how he was when I went into the Lirkin Mill and the Midnight Song. How do you think he's gonna react when he hears I took a stroll through what amounts to Sexual Harassment Lane!?"

Angel couldn't argue with that. "Look, doll, if ya needa get it off yer chest later, fine, I'll listen. For right now, take that pill and get some sleep. You need it."

"What do we . . ."

"Naw, dollface, we ain't gonna worry 'bout tomorrow until it gets here. Go to bed."

***

She used water from the sink to swallow the tranq. While she waited for it to take effect, she went through her coat pockets and drew out the photos she had sealed away inside the plastic baggies which kept them safe and whole and untouched. She put them away in a drawer in the bedstead and swayed on her feet when her eyes grew heavy. Wow, the tranq was working faster than she had expected. Liz crawled into bed with Marty, taking his hand between hers. 

"Dad, just give me one small sign you're going to be okay," she begged. "Give me one sign, and I can sleep peacefully. I . . .I need to know you're going to be alright."

Her throat was tight with emotion, and she squeezed his hand to cajole him into squeezing back. 

"Daddy, please, I need you. Don't leave me alone in Hell."

His hand was heavy, the dark skin almost clammy against her palms.

"Please . . .just one little thing. Snort, cough, anything . . .just something to let me believe you'll be alright."

And it was there. There was a sharp prick at the base of her index finger. It was brief and could have been her imagination, but it had to be there, she told herself. 

"Thanks, Dad," Liz sighed, feeling the tranq drawing her into a lassitude.

She laid down beneath the blankets with him, taking more comfort in that his body was warm now, and drew his arm around her. Every muscle in her body released tension and relaxed, easing pains she hadn’t noticed. 

Her last fleeting thought before sleep claimed her was of how they were back where they started the night. 

**Earlier . . .**

"Yeah, I found her. She's in the Happy Hotel."

The White Demon, or Izzy as he calls himself, watched the lopsided building from atop of the nearby building. His eyesight was powerful and long seeing, but from this distance, he needed the aid of a long-range scope to see the small figure following the demons into the hotel. 

"Good news is she's got nowhere else to go. She'll stay put for now."

He made a clicking sound with his tongue as he got an earful from the client. "Lemme stop ya there, mate. What you said would be an in and out job had me chasing the sheila across the city and I've gone to great pains to keep track of her."

His eye still stung from the pain, and though his injuries had long since healed from the fight outside of P.P. District, the loss of his bat and favorite hat pang him. "My price has gone up."

Another earful later, he replied, "I bloody well know she's human, mate, but she's smart, resourceful, and fights like a wild cat. And she has friends. Even though the Princess is on the outs with the King and Queen, she's still of the Magne family and slogging through the waters of nobility is always extra. You know that."

Then he grinned wide enough that the spirals on his cheeks tighten into little circles. "I'll tell ya what, since this has become personal and I have a reputation to protect, my price is only going up by twenty percent. Same deal as before. Bring you the human unharmed and intact and what you do with her after that is your business." 


	25. Arc 5: Welcome to the Happy Hotel - The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot happens in this chapter. Liz has a heart to heart with an unconscious Marty and processes what happened to her last night.

The late morning sun beaming through a crack in the curtains woke her. Liz stared at the light, amazed by how reddish it seemed as if the sun was stuck in dusk. Slowly, as an unwanted sore spot in her mind, she recalled everything that happened the previous night. Her body was still tucked against Marty's with his hand still held between hers. Instantly, she checked for a pulse, her pounding in her throat as she sought for life within him. A tiny flicker of a pulse could be felt in his throat. 

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, she looked him over. The raw headwound had scabbed over as had the wound in his chest. In fact, someone had bandaged him with fresh gauze and cleaned away the dried blood. Had the tranq been so strong that she hadn't woken when someone came in to treat her father? 

And there were other changes. Liz's clothes had been washed and dried. The hole in the coat where her attacker had cut had been mended. A trip to the toilet revealed the towels have been replaced with fresh ones and the shampoo and soap replenished. She had always considered herself a light sleeper, so it must have been a powerful drug to keep her resting while someone came in and cleaned up after her.

It was almost 10:30 in the morning, much later than she usually woke up. By this time, she was already up, dressed, and already doing office work. That had been a lifetime ago . . . a different person's life. 

"Dad, it's only been a few days, but I feel like . . .well . . .I have this sense that I'm never going home . . .and that scares me." She sat on the edge of the bed, touching Marty's arm to reassure herself he was still alive. If she didn't know better, then she would assume he was in a deep sleep. "I know I can't go back . . .not until we find out who's put the hit on me . . .but that's not important anymore. All I care about is you right now. I think we're safe here, as much as we could be in Hell."

She closed her eyes and waited to hear his deep voice speaking back to her. He would tell her, of course, they were safe in the hotel. He would protect her and rub her back as he did last night before that bastard came. 

"I . . .dammit, we wasted yesterday . . .I could have talked about the photos." She reached into the bedstead, collected the baggies, unsealing them, and took out the photos. "Look, this photo is when mom was taking me to the dentist. I was really scared because the dentist had to remove a couple of my bottom teeth. One of my adult teeth had grown way back on the gum, so he had to make room for it to come forward. I still had to get braces later when I was fourteen . . .that wasn't fun at all. See?"

Flipping through the photos, she found one of her smiling, showing off braces. "I think this was at the debate team. Yep, I was the star of the debate team. No one could out argue me, maybe it's because I'm so bullheaded. . . like you."

There was no offending snort nor rejoinder—only a soft whisper of his breathing. 

Liz went through more photos. “Oh . . .wow! You got one of me at prom! I went with Brian Dunster. Yeah, yeah, he got a lot of flack for that name, but he was a nice guy. I think he went on to coach high school after graduation? A lot of people thought we were going to marry, but I had loftier goals than that."

A drop of water fell across the photo. Wiping her eyes, Liz swallowed back the pain, but the tears still fell. "I wish you had been there . . .you know, doing Dad stuff. Giving Brian Dunster the warning of bringing me back home by curfew or griping at me for wearing too short skirts. Or just driving me to debate team meetings and maybe taking me to scary doctors visits . . .I think . . .I love Mom, but I think if you had taken me it wouldn't have been so scary."

Liz set the photos on the bedstead and clasped her hands together on her lap. "I have epilepsy, Dad. I've had it since I was a little kid. Grandma called it having fits and everyone in that little sinkhole of a town acted like I was born backwards. They believe it was punishment on Mom for running away with you. I had to wear a helmet in elementary school to keep me from hitting my head whenever I had a seizure and everyone called me helmet girl. Mom wanted to take me to a specialist, but Grandma refused to foot the bill for it. She said that the town doctor had been treating everyone just fine for fifty years, but the fucking quack was still treating people like it was the fifties. He said I'd eventually grow out of my' little fits' as if I was having tantrums instead of a medical issue. The fucker."

She laid down beside Marty, holding his hand across her stomach, stroking the palm to elicit some sort of response. "After Grandma finally bit it, one of the first things Mom did was take me to a doctor who knew what the fuck he was doing. She said she never saw a doctor get so mad before when she told him how that old quack had ignored my symptoms. He ordered up a series of tests and by the end of the week I was diagnosed with epilepsy and put on drugs to control it. It took a year to find the right drugs and I was able to leave behind the helmet for good."

Her hand cupped the side of Marty's undamaged face, and she turned it to face her. "Dad, you gotta wake up so you can answer this question, okay? Please? Okay, here it is. Did you leave Mom and me because . . .because I had fits - epilepsy? The doctors say it was caused by brain damage I got when I was two years old because of a car crash . . .and that was around the same time you left. Was it because of that?"

He didn't give her an answer. She closed her eyes, disappointed, and kissed the end of his nose. "I guess you'll tell me when you wake up."

***

"He's still alive?" 

"Yes, I think he's a little better now."

While Angel looked him over, she hoped he would declare Marty was on the mend and would recover soon. However, Angel stared at Marty with a clouded face growing with grimness. 

Liz answered the knock at the door, and Angel had swept in wearing a long purple sheer robe and a thong with pink fuzzy slippers customized for his unique feet. Even during sex, he kept his boots on, and she didn't question it, but now she had a curious desire to see what his feet looked like. 

"Liz, don't get yer hopes up," Angel said, standing straight with lower hands on his hips and upper arms folded beneath his chest puff. 

"He's healing . . ."

"Some," Angel said firmly. "Look, I ain't no expert on this, but I do know that anyone taking a holy blade or bullet to the chest has died. Period. Husky was being an asshole 'bout it, but he wasn't lyin' about Weep's chances."

"And there's no one that can help?" Liz pleaded, refusing to give into the dark hole of despair

Angel opened his mouth to say no, she could see the denial in his eyes, but then he paused for a thoughtful second. “Maybe . . .big maybe! Alastor might know somethin'."

"Alastor? Wait, wait, you don't mean that guy in red, do you?"

"Yeah."

"The one that everyone is so scared of they run away screaming?" And she didn't blame them. Even remembering those crimson eyes staring at her made her shiver, and want to run away from him too.

"He's your best bet. He has these weird dark god powers, so maybe he can do somethin'. Maybe! C'mon, let's go down and eat."

She didn't want to leave Marty, but Angel Dust assured her that Marty's condition won't improve or worsen without her presence. And she needed food as much as she needed the rest. Following him out of the room revealed how sore her body had become. Her legs were stiff, and her bruises have flowered into dark mottling of black and purple. 

She grabbed the cravat, now clean and no longer smelling of alcohol, but Angel said it wasn't necessary. Only Husk was here, and Nifty didn't care as long as she didn't make any messes.

"Who is Nifty?" Liz remembered the name from last night.

"You might see her later when she cleans up the kitchen. Keeps the place clean and in shape. Woke up with clean clothes?"

"Yeah and someone gave my dad cleaned bandages."

"That was her. She zips around the place like she took a handful of uppers with an energy drink."

They made a short stop by Angel's room to collect Fat Nuggets. Liz blinked in surprise when the pink spider came out with a pig enfolded in his lower arms. "You have a pig? In Hell?"

"Yep, say hello to Fat Nuggets," Angel said with the pride of a parent presenting a new baby. 

It looked like a normal pig save for the little horns and spikes along his body and the little devil barb at the end of his curly tail. It seemed to enjoy the attention as she gave it a gentle scratch between the ears and made a happy little snort. 

She followed Angel downstairs to the lobby. In the light, she could make out the paintings covering the walls, which held a few familiar faces. The first portrait that caught her eye was of the Royal Magne Family. 

Liz recognized Charlie from her interview video, and she was the combination of her parents. The woman in the picture was the most human-looking demon Liz had seen during her time in Hell. She was tall with ashen skin and ankle-length blonde hair. Lillith was amazingly beautiful with large pale eyes and expertly applied makeup, which brought out the seductive smile, which made Liz question if she wasn't bisexual like her father. The elegant dark gown she wore revealed a curvaceous figure a sculptor would give his firstborn to craft. The only thing that marked her as nonhuman was the tall horns sprouting from the crown of her head. 

The man, Charlie's father, had a peculiar appearance. He had the slasher teeth of demons and didn't have a nose as she saw most demons, unless they have a snout like Marty, lacked. His skin was alabaster white, save for the red circles on his cheeks his daughter inherited. His clothes reminded her of a southern gentleman wearing a white suit with a tall top hat. He had a mischievous grin that filled his eyes with devilish glee. 

Poor Charlie standing between them in a prim and proper dress seemed lost, overshadowed by her eye-catching parents. 

"Is this the Royal Family?' Liz asked, pausing to study the picture.

"Yeah, Charlie's folks. Queen Lillith and King Lucifer Magne," Angel Dust lit a cigarette and gave it a few bored puffs. Then with a snide grin, he pointed, "Look over there. See who they got chummy with."

Liz looked at the painting he indicated and grimaced. "No!"

"Yep, I wasn't kidding when I said the Von Eldritchs were friends with the Magne."

Even seeing Seviathan's face made her cringe, recalling the smug grin as he waited for her outside of the study where she had deflowered his cousin. She took some comfort remembering his shock when she threw the money back into his face but shivered at how he had sent demons after her for the insult. It didn't give her a high opinion of Charlie to see him posing with the princess for a photo at Hell School prom.

"What is Princess Charlie like?" 

"Ah, she's so sweet she'd make your teeth hurt and a bad judge of character." 

"I can see that," Liz said, pointedly staring at the prom photo. 

"Anyhoo, let's go eat. I gotta head into work later."

The thought of Angel Dust not being around scared her. She had been hoping he would stick around with her for the day. "Is . . .is it safe here? I mean . . .the White Demon was in our apartment before we knew it."

"Yeah, it's safe," Angel replied, leading her into the back of the lobby and through a set of doors. "It's like the Von Eldritch Manor with wards and shit. It's Royal Family property so that name alone keeps the assholes away. Alastor also put up his own wards too. Trust me when I say no one can just waltz on in here without trippin' some wires."

Angel didn't strike her as someone who enjoyed cooking, but he knew his way around the large kitchen meant to serve a large host of hotel guests. He cooked the eggs and bacon expertly in the same skillet while a toaster heated up two sliced bread. Liz didn't have an appetite, but she made herself eat the eggs, and toast Angel set before her. Her body had rested, and now it needed fuel to keep her going. Angel was leaning against the counter, pouring a shot of whiskey into his coffee. 

“Um . . .Angel?” She said tentatively as if pulling a bandaid off a wound. "Do you work in P.P. District?"

"Sometimes," Angel shrugged. "Tends to be a lot of competition, but ya can make a lotta money quick there."

"Is it . . .is it usually so horrible?"

Angel shrugged. "Depends on how well ya can protect yerself. You've seen me in action and the johns know not to fuck with Valentino's whores. I only gotta watch out for the other hookers. They will cut a bitch t' protect their turf."

"I don't think I have ever said the words no, stop, or leave me alone as many times as I did last night," Liz sighed. "I'm a woman who spent most of her adult life in New York City. I'm no stranger to catcalling and harassment, but I was terrified last night."

Angel took a long drag on his cigarette, releasing the smoke through his teeth. "I was worried about what condition I'd find ya in . . .did anythin' happen?"

"This male hooker kicked me because I didn't have any money. . .after he solicited me to pay him for oral sex."

"Sounds like he was desperate t' fill his quota," Angel nonchalantly shrugged both sets of shoulders. 

"I don't see how when there were a lot of customers. One even offered me fifty dollars to watch him fuck this prostitute. Another offered me 300 and dinner."

Angel was bending down, feeding Fat Nuggets a piece of toast. "Don't take this the wrong way, doll, but . . .ya came across as clean, cheap, and easy."

"What?"

"Ya got this clean look about ya cuz you're still human. They prolly saw it too and thought you'd be easy pickin's. And you runnin' around in second hand clothes didn't help you look like an expensive whore."

Clean . . .Arackniss said it back at the mill, and so did Shard. Did being damned to Hell taint you somehow? Or was it being in Pentagram City that somehow clung to you like polluted smoke? 

"A lotta demons prefer smaller partners," Angel petted Fat Nuggets head while the pig munched on the toast, spreading crumbs on the floor. "Easier to control and get what ya want from 'em. Especially from Sinners who just got down here, who don't know all the rules or how t' look after themselves. And . . .not sayin' this t' scare ya, but there are human fetishists who get their jollies going after humanlike demons. The ones that fall down here without extra bits like tails or horns."

“Jesus . . .so . . .I was at the top of the menu for a lot of those assholes. It's a wonder I didn't get gang raped."

"Not on P.P. District," Angel corrected. "It ain't free for all. Johns always pay or deal with the pimps."

"I used Valentino's name a few times. It didn't stop . . ." Was she ready to talk about that? 

She could feel the knife pressing into her ribs and the tight grip on her shoulders, holding her against a rigid body. Suddenly, the smell of food became distasteful, and she pushed the plate away in disgust.

"Didn't stop what?" 

Her throat was tight, but the words rose from her chest. "This guy had a knife . . .he didn't hurt me, but . . .he made me go with him to a hotel. I told him what you said. I was off the clock and I worked for Valentino. He said he'd pay me extra."

"Shit, did he . . .did he get you in there?"

"No, I managed to get away from him."

Angel rose and took the dishes to the sink, his face impassive, but there was something there she couldn't put her finger on. "The asshole prolly had a room already booked. Woulda taken ya straight up without havin' t' check in. Easier to get victims upstairs that way."

"You said . . .you said using Valentino's name would protect me . . ." She couldn't stop the accusing tone. 

"No, I didn't," Angel said, an eyebrow arching at her. "I told you to say that so fuckers wouldn't think they can rape and shortchange ya. Everyone on P.P. District, fuck, in Pentagram City know better than t' shortchange Valentino who doesn't give a shit how ya get off as long as he gets his money. It protected ya from the rape to don’t pay crowd."

Jesus . . .and that had been her only protection on P.P. District, and it had only been a fragile shield at best. "Christ, Angel, if I had known . . .I would never have gone there in the first place. I should have turned around and took my chances with the White Demon."

"I know, doll, I know, but it's over now. Nothin' happened. You're fine and away from that place." Angel ground out his cigarette in the sink and tossed it into the waste bin. "I gotta go t' work. Alastor should be in later this afternoon. Just ask him t' take a look at yer pops."

"Should we text him about me?"

Angel laughed. "Naw, doll, ya should know Alastor hates modern technology. Won't touch it. He doesn't even own a hellphone."

She watched Angel take the plates and put them into the sink for Nifty to wash later. ("She likes cleanin' up after me!") It was none of her business, and she knew better than to pry, but Liz had the feeling that Angel spoke about the P.P. District from experience. Had he been assaulted there? Sex work was dangerous, especially street walking. It was why many women and some men sought a pimp to protect them from those who would take advantage of them. 

Liz followed Angel upstairs and checked on Marty. He was still alive, and no visible changes as far as she could see. She stroked his hair, wondering what she should be doing?

She kicked off her shoes and curled up on the bed beside him. More sleep wouldn't hurt, and she had nothing else to do.

An hour later, after Angel left for the Porn Studio, a white limo pulled up in front of the hotel.


	26. Arc 5: Welcome to the Happy Hotel - Rejection and Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People return home while Liz receives an invitation.

"If you die, or never wake up. I'm going after him." 

Liz was sitting against the bed's bulkbord, her legs crossed at the ankles. Her shoes were off, and she had her feet tucked beneath the blankets. Marty was still asleep or still in his coma, as much as Liz didn't want to think of it like that.

"I thought about it a lot. I know I was supposed to be resting, but I can't help it. Everytime I close my eyes, I see that white bastard stabbing you . . .he didn't have to do that. He was a better fighter than you . . .he did it to punish me." Liz felt her eyes well up at the thought of everything she could have done other than putting a damn holy weapon in the bastard's hands. "If you die, I'm going to kill him."

She could imagine Marty's voice in her head as if he was speaking to her now.

_ Lizzie, no, he’s too dangerous. _

"Well, I'm dangerous too, Dad. I'll just wait in a park, maybe Rose Park, and let him come to me. When he's close enough, I'll unload a shotgun into his stomach." She mimed aiming a shotgun, taking perverse pleasure in imagining the White Demon's torso being torn apart. 

_ Honey, you don't have a shotgun. _

"I'll get one. Angel or Arackniss can get me one if I ask. If they won't, I'll fucking buy one. I know a way I can make money." A shadow of the P.P. District brushed her shoulders, making her shiver. "And I'll have plenty of ammo too. Each time the asshole starts to get up, I'll blast him again and again. Arackniss told me that demons can die if they burn out their regeneration. So each time that sonuvbitch starts to heal, I'll shoot him until he's nothing, but jelly."

_ Lizzie, don't. I'm not worth that. _

"Yes, Dad, you are. Ifyou die, then the last thing I'll do before whatever happens to me is to kill him. Maybe I'll try to find who hired him to get me and pay them a visit too. They sent him to our apartment so they deserve the same."

Liz tilted her head against the bulkboard and sighed. "I guess I'm going through the anger phase of grief. Thinking about revenge or being angry at myself for causing you to be in this situation."

_ Lizzie, I just want you to be safe. _

"I want to stay safe too, Dad, but like you keep warning me this is Hell. Nowhere is safe."

***

"I swear if Angel threw a rave while we were gone . . ." 

"I'm sure Husk and Nifty wouldn't let him do that."

"If I see so much as a glow stick . . ." Vaggie pushed open the front doors of the hotel with one hand while towing a suitcase behind her with the other. She looked behind her to see Charlie walking dejected, her carry bag almost dragging on the ground. 

"Hon, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I will be," Charlie sighed. "I just . . .I was hoping my parents would be around more. I know it was their anniversary, but I thought they would let me know before they took off on their 325th honeymoon."

_ Or at least stick around longer for dinner,  _ Vaggie thought. 

The King and Queen barely made it through appetizers before excusing themselves to consummating their continued marriage. The Queen feigned polite interest in Charlie's redemption project while the King openly dismissed it as a waste of time.

_ Really, Charlie, dear, when are you going to give up this pipe dream? Sinners are eternally damned for a reason.  _

Like Charlie needed that! Six months since the last Cleanse, and they were still stuck at one guest, Angel Dust, who has shown no signs whatsoever of giving up sex or drugs. Charlie had been quiet on the ride home, and Vaggie, trying as she might, couldn't cheer her up. If Vaggie wasn't afraid she'd be tortured for a thousand years, she'd give the Royal Couple a piece of her mind. 

She walked across the lobby where Husk was behind the bar helping himself to the top-shelf liquor. Before she could inquire into any updates of the happenings around the hotel, she heard a sharp intake of breath and something hitting the floor from behind her.

"Babe?" Turning around, she saw Charlie, who had dropped her bag, staring at the guest book with large eyes that almost glowed. "What is it?"

Charlie picked up the book with a mother's tenderness lifting a child and held out the book for Vaggie to see. Beneath Angel Dust's signature were two new names.

_ Martin 'Marty' Roberts _

_ Elizabeth 'Liz' Carter _

"We have two new guests!" Charlie gasped, almost dancing on the spot. "Husk, when did they sign in?"

Husk blinked. "What?"

"The new guests!" Charlie zoomed past Vaggie fast enough to blow back her hair. She slapped the book open on the counter and thump the names with an excited finger. "Elizabeth and Martin!"

Husk looked down, reading the names out loud to himself, incredulous for a moment before recognition crossed his mind. “Liz . . .and Marty . . .aw, shit!”

Taken aback by the response, Charlie blinked. "They . . .did sign in, right? You're the receptionist so you should know when they signed in."

"When I wasn't lookin'!" Husk almost hissed, his ears laid back and wings flaring backward. 

"O . . .kay," Charlie said, determined not to let his reaction stymie the fantastic news. "What room are they in? I want to personally welcome them. . ."

"Don't do that!" Husk cut her off, coming around the counter. “They . . . came in pretty late . . .”

Vaggie narrowed her eyes into suspicious slits. "Did Angel bring more of his clients here!? We told him what would happen if he did that again!"

"No, they're not clients . . .uh, they were pretty tired . . .look, this might be a fuckin' mistake."

Charlie sagged, her hair almost wilting down her back. "Are you sure?"

"Why don't we go up and ask them if this was a mistake or not?" Vaggie crossed her arms, eyeing Husk‘a reaction. "Which room are they in?"

"I don't remember," Husk shrugged.

"You're the receptionist. You're supposed to know which room they're in or at least look it up."

"I fuckin' suck at being a receptionist, okay!? I was drunk! I'll find 'em. . .go unpack or brush each other's hair or whatever lesbians do."

Vaggie snorted Spanish insults under her breath as the cat demon departed for the stairs. "Something's going on. I just know it."

Following Husk to the stairs, Charlie said, "Tell them they're invited to dinner tonight! And Angel too if he makes it back in time!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever," Husk said without looking back. 

_ And here I am trying to hold the pieces of her heart together,  _ Vaggie thought as she took Charlie by the shoulders. "Hon, don't get your hopes up. It might be a misunderstanding . . ."

"I know, but what if it's actual guests! People who want to be redeemed!"

"And that would be wonderful, but . . .remember how it was after the interview?"

"That was months ago! Surely people have forgotten . . ."

"Channel 666 keeps rotating it on their website," Vaggie said dryly, thinking of the pettiness of the news anchor Katie. "It's still viral. I just don't want to see you get hurt."

Charlie drew her into a hug. "I'll be alright. If it's a setback, well, we'll bounce back! We still have the hotel and each other."

_ And this is why I'm in love with her. She doesn't let anything, not even Hell itself, get her down.  _

"C'mon, hon, let's go unpack and . . ." Vaggie rolled her eyes as she kissed Charlie's cheek. ". .. and brush each other's hair."

***

Liz rubbed Marty's ears. It was odd that just now, since meeting him, she had this inclination to give his ears a rub like she would a dog. And like a dog's, they were soft and silky between her fingers. She wondered if he would have enjoyed it if he was awake, or would it embarrass him . . .or worst, it was something entirely inappropriate for a daughter to do to her father!

However, they were warm, and any part of him that was warm meant he was still alive, which brought her some comfort. 

"I wondered what it was like for you," Liz said, idly stroking the edge of a triangular ear, hoping to elicit it to twitch or fold like a cat or dog. "When you first fell to Hell and you weren't human anymore? Was it a huge adjustment for you? A lot of demons seem to have adapted to their bodies. Especially Angel Dust . . .well, I know you don’t want details, but he knows how to use all four arms to please someone."

Still, Marty didn't move, didn't speak, and nor did his ears twitch at all. 

"C'mon, Dad . . .you're still alive. Won't you just wake up for a few minutes?" 

Then she noticed something. Before she could get a closer look, the door was thrown open and Husk, the demon cat from downstairs, stormed inside with his ears laid back and wings spread behind him.

"Alright, vamoose! Ya gotta leave, pronto!"

"What!?" Liz cried. "Why!? Who's here!?" Had the White Demon broken into the hotel downstairs? Was it the imps? Or had some new horror coming after them!?

"The Princess is here and she wants t' meet the 'new guests'." He made air quotations with his razor claws in sharp motions. "Because your stupid ass signed the damn guest book."

"She's here!? The girl from the interview!?" Liz crawled off the bed as Husk threw open the window and peered out.

"Alright, here's how this is gonna go," Husk said. "I'm gonna fly ya down first and you catch this schmuck when I drop him out the window."

"No! You will do no such thing!" Liz shouted, standing protectively in front of Marty. 

"I don't think he's gonna catch you when I drop you from the window," Husk retorted. "He's still alive?"

"Yes! He's still alive! And you are not dropping anyone out the window and we are not leaving!"

"Yes, ya are! You're about to bring shit down on me . . ."

"We got nowhere to go!"

"Not my problem!"

"Yes! It will be! When I go downstairs and tell the Princess you're trying to kick us out!"

"You do that and I'll tell her yer human!" Husk rounded on her, snarling.

"And I'll tell her you tried to hide it too!"

"I'll deny it!"

"Angel Dust will back me up!"

"Yeah, right. They won't listen to that coked up hooker." Husker jabbed a claw at the window. "Now ya want help getting down or wanna see how well you can fly on your own?"

"Fuck you!"

"Fly on your own it is, then!"

"Husker, throwing a young lady and her father out of the window is very unbecoming." 

Both Liz and Husk whipped around to see the tall figure standing in the doorway. Though he was quite thin, his presence filled the room with overwhelming eldritch darkness. His shadow stretched across the floor, sharp horns branching from the skull like long thorns. A bright yellow smile etched across the dark cream color face beneath bright red eyes sent shivers down Liz's spine.

"Al! Shit! This isn't. . . I'm not involved in this!" Husk stepped away, tucking his wings behind him as if to divorce himself as far away from Liz and Marty as possible. "It was all Angel Dust! He brought 'em here and she signed the fuckin' Guest Book and now the Princess thinks they're guests here!"

Alastor's eyes were on Liz, who drew away until the backs of her knees were against the bed. They switched to Husk and blinked with an audible twitch. "If she has signed their names into the Guest Book, then they are guests of the hotel. And don't you think it's rather distasteful for the receptionist to throw guests out the window?"

Liz couldn't tell if he was being serious or humorous. She glanced at Husk, waiting to see what he would do or say. Instead, he huffed, "Fine! Whatever! Washin' my fuckin' hands of this. You can explain what's goin' on yourself."

This last bit was barked at Liz as he departed. Alastor took a single step aside to let Husk out of the room and then stepped back into place at the doorway. Liz suddenly didn't feel comfortable being left alone with Alastor with her unconscious father lying helpless on the bed.

"Um, thank you for that." 

"Think no more of it, my dear Elisa, you're a hotel guest and owed all the hospitality we can offer you and your father."

“This is Marty . . .Martin Roberts . . .he was my . . .he is my father. He was stabbed with a holy weapon last night. Angel said that you . . .you might be able to do something?"

Coming inside with soft taps of his dark shoes, Alastor regarded Marty with a tilt of the head. "This fellow has seen better days."

"Can you help him?" Liz's throat was tight with both worry and fear.

"Nope. Nothing I can do."

"Oh." It hurt more than she expected. She had really been hoping he could do something.

"His body may heal itself."

That was the most optimistic thing she heard from a demon since Marty's stabbing. "You believe so?"

"It's trying to heal now." Alastor leaned over Marty's prone body, mouth parting, to reveal a row of glistening teeth. "His flesh is trying to mend itself inside. I can almost hear the sinew reconnecting and being cut apart again. Over and over, like a tragically broken record."

Seeing him looming over Marty made her nervous as it seemed that the corner of the room had darkened with his presence. However, he was more informative than the other demons who kept telling her that Marty would die. "What's. . .what's keeping him from healing? Everyone says that holy weapons are lethal to demons, but why? I understand the whole Angels Vs Demons thing, but what's the science behind it? Is it poison? A severe allergic reaction?"

She has seen Marty impaled on rebar and walked it off as if it was indigestion, seen the signs of demons regrowing lost limbs, and even the White Demon had gotten an eyeful of spray paint and was still able to shoot out tires with a long-range rifle. If demons could heal from just about anything, then why not from this?

Alastor was giving her an interesting look. "Shall we continue this discussion over tea?"

Liz blinked, taken aback by the invitation. "I . . .I don't want to leave Marty."

"He's in no danger of departing from this immortal coil over the next hour," Alastor swept her along with him with a hand on her shoulder. 

_ Been watching you, cutie. Acting as if you're too good for everyone.  _

Liz's body tensed, and her shoulder jerked beneath his hand. "Alone?"

"As alone as we can be in one of my favorite teahouses!"

__


	27. Arc 5: Welcome to the Happy Hotel - A Merry Stroll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz enjoys a peaceful stroll through Hell.

Liz was never much a fan of tea. Oh, she enjoyed a glass of ice-cold sweet tea with her meals, but as for going through the process of boiling, steeping, and knowing the wide variety of tea, she never found the desire or time for it. However, she had to admit right now she was enjoying the effects a calming chamomile tea was having for her.

The atmosphere was surprisingly pleasant for a teahouse in Hell. Their table was in a garden hedged with rose bushes, which gave the area a pleasant floral fragrance. Even the afternoon felt warm without it being too humid or hot to enjoy, nor was there a crowd, not that she was worried about being seen if there were.

Instead of taking her to the teahouse via a vehicle, he did something that swallowed her in shadows. Everything went terrifyingly dark, and then color seeped through the shadows like water leaking in a cracked pitcher. Then she was in the teahouse garden with Alastor, but wearing new clothes. 

She was dressed like a femme fatale from an old black and white flick, wearing a long black and white dress with black Mary Jane heels. Her hair was styled with curls at her temples. A cap was pinned at her crown with a black veil covering most of her face. Between the empty garden and the veil, she felt confident no one could see she was still a living person. 

Alastor already knew she was human and she wondered what would he make of it? She knew very little about him other than most demons were absolutely terrified of him. The employee who served them barely gave her a glance as he kept his eyes on Alastor as if he were a rabid dog about to pounce. 

“So . . . you know why holy weapons kill demons?” She wanted to resume their earlier conversation now they had their tea and little cakes. It felt strange to handle the teacup with gloves on as she only wore gloves during snow season. 

“Of course. Magic!” 

“Oh. . .” Liz had been hoping he would give her more of an explanation. “Just magic?” 

“Certainly! You don’t believe in magic? After being in Hell?” He was grinning at her over his teacup, from which he took a short sip. 

“Uh . . .I guess I do now.” 

“You didn’t believe in life after death?”

“Well, I did . . .I mean I do . . .I just . . .well, I certainly wasn’t expecting this for Hell. I thought it was all fire and brimstone or people being forced to endure their worst nightmares for eternity. All I’ve seen are people giving into their base desires for drugs, sex, and violence. I thought Hell was supposed to punish Sinners, but it enables them to continue the behavior that got them sent to Hell in the first place. No one seems miserable.” 

“But they are,” Alastor declared. “It’s not apparent on the surface, but if you look closely enough, beneath the facade, no one in Hell is happy. It’s all misery, empty fulfillment, self-destruction, and self-loathing. It’s just . . .wonderful!” He sighed happily as if recalling a pleasant memory.

Liz took a small sip of tea and set it down on the saucer. “What can you tell me about redemption? Does it work?”

“Oh, no, my dear. Redemption is impossible,” Alastor shook his head, his grin never faltering. “If redemption was possible, it would have happened in life. As I told the Princess, there is no undoing what has been done.”

“That’s true, but isn’t it possible to be better?” Liz asked, furrowing her brow. “Like a drunk goes to rehab, stops drinking, and lives a sober life as a better person. Isn’t that redemption?”

“Oh, and what if he drove while inebriated and ran over a young mother?” Alastor rejoined and began speaking as if narrating a radio drama. “The children are orphans, forced to live in a wretched orphanage and work miserable jobs in a dirty mine to survive. Oh, the humanity!”

She couldn’t tell if he was humorous or serious. He was the oddest demon she had met thus far in Hell and also the most dangerous. Seviathan had been dangerous, as would any rich brat who wasn’t afraid to hire out thugs, but Alastor was something else altogether. 

“That’s terrible, of course, and he would have to be punished for it and rehabilitated, but once he gets out and starts making wiser choices, he wouldn’t necessarily be the same man as before.”

“That might be true in life, but this is Hell, darling, no one is going to change for the better because no one wants to change. The temptations are too great. Do you really believe your dear friend Angel Dust is going to give up his drinking, drugs, and sex for a ridiculous notion of going to Heaven where he will not be allowed to do any of what he craves?”

“I don’t know . . .he is a good person despite the drugs and drinking and sex. My mother once told me that people who have holes in their hearts try to fill them with sinful habits.”

“Are you talking about Angel or someone else?”

Her hands squeezed together on her knees. “My father . . .he’s not a bad person either. Maybe he did leave us behind when I was a baby, but he’s done so much for me since I came down here. If Angel Dust doesn’t want to change, then maybe my Dad can.” 

***

Alastor’s presence could clear a street within seconds. Demons ducked into alleys, disappeared into doorways, and even slammed windows shut. One demon even stuffed himself into a garbage bin and peeked out with terrified eyes as they walked by arm in arm. 

The irony wasn’t lost on Liz of how she’s walking with the most dangerous demon she ever met, but yet she never felt safer since her arrival in Hell. Being in his presence was like being under his protection. If a demon tried to harm her, they would have to go through him to get to her. And that included the White Demon. She glanced around on the street and buildings for a single malicious eye with an X in a bullseye optic. 

He was at least two feet taller than her but walked with a slower stride so she could keep up in her heels. “You want your father to be redeemed and enter Heaven?” Alastor asked, resuming their earlier topic.

“Yes, I do,” Liz replied. 

It had weighed on the back of her mind since viewing the Princess’s interview on her first day in Hell. If redemption was possible, then why couldn’t Marty be redeemed and ascend to Heaven? 

“Even if it's impossible?”

“The Princess believes it is.”

“The dear Princess is a dreamer of an impossible dream.”

“But has it been properly tried before? You said it yourself the only test subject is Angel Dust who hasn’t really tried to redeem himself. So how can you really say it's impossible if it hasn’t been fully tested?”

“Do you believe it’s possible or are you a daughter who wishes to redeem her father?” 

“Both.” 

They crossed an empty street (demons had dashed away, one even crawled beneath a car to hide) and onto a shopping outlet. Liz glanced at the window displays, noticing some of the customers and employees ducking behind counters and shelves as they went by. 

“I worked with rehabilitation centers . . .I even directed one,” Liz continued, adjusting her veil over her eyes. “I’ve seen drunks and junkies turn it all around for themselves and get decent jobs and raise families. Racists become educated and overcome their hatred to embrace those they prejudiced. Abusers rehabilitated into decent human beings and ex-convicts who serve their time get out to help out their communities. I’m not saying everyone can be redeemed, but I wouldn’t go as far as to say it’s totally impossible.” 

Alastor was quiet, laying a hand on hers at his elbow as he led her through the shopping district. Liz was content to walk in silence, thinking about Marty, Jesse, and even Dagon. They weren’t bad people, not like the White Demon, Hartley, Rathel, Seviathan, or the demon who tried to assault her. And neither was Angel who had come to save her last night when there was no money in it for him. He had been worried for her safety when he learned she was in the P.P. District, picked her up, and protected her from Shard. Then brought her to the hotel where she and Marty would be safe. If Angel actually tried, she could see him living up to his name and going to Heaven.

However, it was worrisome as it had yet to be proven. What if the chance they had in life was it? Once you’re damned, then you’re damned for good. Yet, what was the harm in trying? Nothing was lost by trying to be redeemed. Unless Marty died . . . 

The thought brought a sad chill despite the warm afternoon. “Alastor, you said my father’s body may heal itself. Do you think he’ll wake up?”

“Dear Elisa, that I do not know. He may very well pass on tonight, tomorrow, or even next week. His body may lose the battle.”

“Is there anything I could do to help him out? Medicine? Or a treatment?” She knew it sounded like a broken record insisting there was some doctoring to be done in Hell. 

“Unless he can eat to replenish his regeneration, then there is nothing you can do.”

“Eat?” She thought back to Arackniss, explaining how the demon’s regenerative abilities can burn out if they suffered constant severe injury. 

“It is my experience that demons who have been captive with lack of food or water tend to regenerate more slowly than those who have abundant diets.” 

That made sense to her. Arackniss’s cohorts were held without being fed to keep them weak for harvesting, and coupled with lack of nourishment and constant healing, their bodies gave out. The holy weapon had caused Marty severe damage, almost killing him, but not quite. If what Alastor said is true, she could give him some nourishment to help his body recover. And having gone to nursing school before switching careers to law and social work, she knew how to deliver nutrients to a comatose patient.

“Excuse me for a moment, I need to text Angel Dust,” Liz opened the little purse she carried under her arm where her phone had been magicked earlier.

With a light sniff, Alastor gave the device a raised eyebrow but didn’t protest as she thumbed a message.

**Liz** : Hey, in the Porn Studio, do they practice medical fetishism?

It was only a moment's wait before there was a reply.

**Angel** : Yeah. Why?

**Liz** : Can you bring back feeding tubes? For Dad.

There was a long pause. 

**Angel** : Why the fuck he needs feeding tubes for? 

**Liz** : To feed him so he can wake up.

**Angel** : You gonna shove a tube down his throat while he’s asleep? 

**Liz** : No. It’s going to go up his nose and down his throat. 

**Angel** : WTF!?!?! 

**Liz** : Please, can you get me a feeding tube or not? I can make do with a catheter tube if not.

**Angel** : I’ll get one. 

**Liz** : Thank you! You’re a good person!

**Angel** : I wouldn’t say that cause I know what you’re gonna do with it.

Liz tucked the phone back into her purse, feeling a rush of hope. Marty was going to make it. She had something she could do other than waiting and hoping he’ll wake up, even if it was some semblance of controlling the situation. 

As she turned back to Alastor, she noticed something behind him. It was an electronic store with TVs stacked up to form a wall of entertainment, which had been playing advertisements and sitcoms but now had something else playing. “Alastor. . .the televisions in that electronic store . . .they are all giving you the finger.”

Alastor uttered a sigh resembling a radio buzzing and gripped the shaft of his cane. “Don’t stare, Elisa. He craves the attention. And cover your ears, dear.”

As soon as Liz did so, Alastor casually raised the cane and brought it down hard on the pavement. Even with her hands over her ears, the high pitched shriek of a microphone experiencing intense feedback made them ring. The televisions went to static, and the dark hand with blue neon blades for fingertips performing the rude sign disappeared into snowy screens. 

_ There go my chances of keeping my hearing when I’m older,  _ she thought bitterly, rubbing her ear as they resumed their merry stroll through Hell.

“Elisa, are you certain you don’t have any family in Louisiana?” Alastor prompted.

“I don’t think so, at least not from my mother’s side.” He had asked this back at the Midnight Song, and it was creeping her out now as it did then. And also, it wasn’t lost on her how he kept calling her Elisa. “Do I . . .Do I remind you of someone when you were alive?”

“Yes, someone very dear to me.” There was a buzzing sound, almost like a purr, which rippled from him like a hidden radio speaker. 

Liz wasn’t sure how she felt about that. If anyone else had said that, she would have been curious and flattered, but it made her uncomfortable and even a little scared since it was coming from the Radio Demon. Not that she wasn’t afraid of him now. Walking with him was like walking with a tiger on a leash. The danger wasn’t apparent, but it was there all the same. 

***

By the time they returned to the hotel, Liz’s head was filled with thoughts and questions. A part of her believed she was crazy, but Liz was never one to just stand by and wait for things to happen. Once she saw to Marty’s needs, she would start making plans.

After she excused herself and thanked Alastor for tea, the Radio Demon watched her ascend the stairs with something akin to affection, or as the most affection Husk had ever seen the Radio Demon have for someone.

“What’s goin’ on between you and the human broad?” Husk muttered, dark and amber eyes switching between stairs and Alastor, who continued to stare after the human. 

“Oh, nothing untoward, I can assure you.” Alastor sighed, manifesting a whiskey into his hand and taking a short sip. “She reminds me of someone dear and precious.”

“What? Your mother?”

“No, my first.”

“No shit? First love?”

“No,” Alastor shook his head. 

“First fuck?”

“Oh, dear me, no.”

Husker considered what he knew of Alastor’s life on Earth. “Aw, c’mon, the first person you killed?”

“Close, but not quite,” Alastor was almost blushing as the memories coiled around him of a dark-haired beauty and the lovely shade of her blood on his hands. It had taken several tries to find that high he had sought in his youth back when he didn’t fully understand what he had craved for so long. It had been Elisa, a young woman seeking a new life in New Orleans whose death paved the way to a life of fulfillment. It was like taking the drug for the first time; no other hit was quite as incredible as the first time, and for that, Elisa always held a special place in his heart.

“She reminds of me the first time I got it right!”


	28. Arc 5: Welcome to the Happy Hotel - Redemption Consultant

The first thing Liz did when she returned to the room was check on Marty. He was still alive, but the thing she noticed earlier had spread.

“What is this?” She said to herself as she inspected his ear. 

White hairs peppered the interior of his ebony ears. Before going for tea with Alastor, there had been a few white hairs standing out in the black ears, but now there were more. Was this a positive or a negative sign?

As far she understood, Sinners never aged as their punishment in Hell was eternal. So no graying hair, but then again, she didn’t believe hair went to white this quickly. And it was happening in the other ear too. She was hoping for signs that his injuries were finally beginning to heal, but they were still freshly scabbed over. 

“I went out today with the Radio Demon. He still creeps me out, but he was nice.”

Again, she could hear him inside her head, scolding her.

_ Lizzie! You shouldn’t have left the hotel! _

“I didn’t. When he invited me out to tea, I thought he meant somewhere in the hotel. I didn’t know he was going to spirit me away! He gave me new clothes though . . .oh.”

Leaving the Radio Demon’s side, her clothing had reverted to the coat and pants she had been wearing since fleeing the apartment last night. “Well, darn. They were old fashion, but I kinda liked them. Well, anyway, we had an interesting chat . . .about redemption.”

She didn’t hear Marty’s voice but could imagine him rolling his eyes.

“Anyway, I think it’s . . .I think it’s worth a shot . . .for you.”

_ Oh God, Lizzie, seriously!? _

“Yes, seriously. C’mon, don’t you want to go to Heaven? Who doesn’t want to go to Heaven?” She sat on the edge of the bed and took Marty’s hand in hers. “The biggest problem from what I’ve seen is no one believes in it save for the Princess and I’ve had a lot of thoughts . . .”

She told him her thoughts, and in her mind, Marty was scolding her.

“I know. I know. You’re trying to get me home, and I do want to go home, but the way things are . . .with that White Demon after me and your condition . . .I can’t leave things the way they are so . . .I might as well do what I did best at home. It’ll make me feel better.”

_ I’m sorry, Lizzie. _

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll be fine. I actually feel good about this.”

***

“We have to make a good first impression!” Charlie worried over the dinner table. “And Angel isn’t going to get here on time!”

“I think that’s a good thing,” Vaggie replied. “We don’t want him being a bad influence on new guests.”

“He’s not a bad guy . . .”

“Charlie, I found ten dime bags taped underneath his bed, twenty of those miniature bottles at the bottom of his ‘toy box’ that he hid there because he thought the sight of dicks would scare me off.”

“I don’t want to exclude him . . .”

“We’re not excluding him. He chose to continue his sex work even though we told him he would have to stop.” Vaggie knew it was an uphill battle she had been fighting for so long, but maybe now they had more guests, it was time to try again. “Maybe it’s time we . . .consider letting him go.”

“You mean kick him out.” Charlie’s voice was low as she adjusted the dinner plates for the tenth time in fifteen minutes.

“Charlie, he hasn’t taken anything we’ve done seriously since day one . . .even before day one. To him, it’s just free room and board.”

“He’s a good person, Vaggie, I know he is . . .”

“He’s done very little to prove it.”

“I don’t want to give up on him.”

Vaggie sighed, “Alright, hon, we’ll give him another month to mend his ways, but we have to focus on Elizabeth Carter and Martin Roberts.”

And just like that, Charlie’s happy moon came back with a rage. “I can’t wait to meet them!”

“Now remember what I said,” Vaggie cautioned her, taking her by the shoulders. “Don’t smother them and please, don’t expect too much. I hate to see you get disappointed again.”

“It’ll be alright, Vaggie! Have faith.”

They had invited Husk, but he had outright refused to come with, “I like watchin’ car wrecks as much as the next joker, but I don’t wanna be in one!”

Nifty was hard to pin down as she was busy cleaning the rooms and wanted to do some shopping. “The new guest got blood on the sheets! We need new ones!”

However, Alastor was there, grinning widely, sitting with his sudden appearance. They hadn’t heard him come in at all. Vaggie gave him a derisive glare. “Why are you here?”

“I was invited to dinner too!” 

Vaggie turned her disapproving glare at Charlie, who grinned back sheepishly. “Charlie, I thought you wanted to make a good first impression. Having him here is going to scare them away . . .”

“Oh, only the daughter will be coming down. Her father isn’t in any condition to be social.” 

Vaggie’s eye narrowed in deep suspicion. “And you know this how?”

“She and I had a lovely chat over tea and took a merry stroll together.”

Oh no. If this Sinner wasn’t afraid of Alastor, they would be either foolish or someone too dangerous to be redeemed. Already Vaggie could see this becoming a fiasco before they even started.

“Ah! There she is! Elisa, the Belle of the Evening!”

“It’s . . .It’s Elizabeth.” 

***

Alastor beamed at her from across the table with the disturbing grin that seemed to hide his thoughts. Liz gave him a cursory nod and smile as he seated her.

Princess Charlotte ‘Charlie’ Magne was openly staring at her with barely contained excitement. The Von Eldritches didn’t recognize her humanity because, being hellborn, they never been around humans before, but Charlie recognized her as one right away.

Not that she bothered to hide it. It was one of the decisions she made earlier. It would be too much trouble to hide being a living human for however long she would be among them. And part of her plan was to be open and honest about who she is and where she came from. 

“So your father . . .is he a human too?” This came from a Sinner that resembled a rag doll with mismatched stockings and a large X where one eye had once been. 

“No, he’s a demon. He’s been in Hell for thirty years . . . I’ve actually only met him a few days ago, but we’ve been through a lot together.”

“Since I.M.P tried to kill you,” Vaggie looked over at Charlie with an arched brow. “I knew that was going to lead to trouble eventually.” 

“We’ve been looking for the demon who put the hit on me and we have crossed off a couple of suspects, but we were looking for the third one when we were attacked last night. My father was almost fatally stabbed by a holy blade and . . .” Liz found it harder to say out loud than thinking it. “He’s in a coma. I don’t know when or if he’ll wake up, but we have nowhere else to go so Angel Dust brought us here.”

“Ms. Carter, I’m sorry about your circumstances, but this isn’t a safe house. We’re trying to help Sinners redeem themselves.” Vaggie replied. “Charlie might have connections to get you sent home, but . . .”

“Actually, Vaggie, it might not be a good idea to tell my folks about this.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, you know Dad doesn’t like to meddle too much in demon affairs.” Charlie whispered, shielding her mouth from Liz’s view. “As long as the status quo is kept, Dad doesn’t care about what they do. He’ll probably turn her over to whoever wants her killed just to keep things quiet.”

“What about that Dante guy?” 

“That was an arrangement between Dad and Heaven. Things were different back then.”

“Okay, but . . .we can’t keep a human here.”

By now, they were bending down behind the table to hide their hushed discussion. Liz glanced at Alastor, who still maintained his smile, but lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. 

“Why not?” Charlie whispered, almost bouncing on her knees.

“She’s not a stray dog we can adopt!” Vaggie hissed.

“No, but she’s a guest. She signed her name in the guest book.”

“Charlie, honey, this hotel is for Sinners. She’s not a Sinner . . .yet.”

“No, I’m not,” Liz said, standing up slightly to look over the table. “I’m still alive, but I’m very interested in what you’re doing here. I want my father to be redeemed . . .when he wakes up.”

Vaggie and Charlie peek above the table, not realizing they were crouching down so low. Vaggie stood, coughing to hide her embarrassment. “Uh, that’s nice. And we will certainly try to redeem him when he wakes up, but . . .”

“And I want to help you.”

“That’s very nice, but we don’t have any positions . . .” Vaggie began politely, but Charlie cut her off.

“What can you do?”

“I don’t have my credentials with me. Nor can I verify my work history, but I have an extensive background in social work.” Liz began, sitting back in the chair and drawing a short breath. “I went to nursing school for 18 months before switching careers to law and social work. I’ve worked with troubled youths and runaways, I’ve been involved in rehabilitation facilities, and I’ve been a lawyer for low income families. Recently, in the last five years, I’ve been the director of Swanhouse.”

“And what is that?” Vaggie asked, trying to recall if she heard of it. But then she died in 2014.

“It functions as a rehabilitation center for runaways and prostitutes. It was originally going to be named Dovehouse, but I decided on Swanhouse instead, because of the story of the ugly duckling that grew up to be a swan. It gets homeless teenagers off the streets so they don’t fall prey to sex traffickers and prostitutes who want to leave the life behind somewhere they can be safe and receive an education.”

Vaggie blinked. “Was Swanhouse successful?”

“I would think so,” Liz said. “I’ve opened three in New York and a dozen are being operated across the nation in major cities. A reporter said Swanson has reduced illegal prostitution and sex trafficking by about twenty percent nationwide.”

“Ms. Carter, I don’t think this is the same thing as . . .” Vaggie began in her most professional and polite voice.

“You’re hired!” Charlie was reaching across the table to take Liz’s hand and shaking it earnestly. “Welcome to the Happy Hotel, Redemption Consultant!”

Vaggie slapped her forehead, instantly angry with herself for forgetting Charlie’s impulsiveness. “Charlie, hon, a moment, please?”

Again, they ducked down together behind the table. Vaggie whispered low, taking Charlie by the shoulders. “Charlie, sweetheart, this is not a good idea.”

“Vaggie, didn’t you hear her? She runs her own hotels!” 

“They’re not what you think they are . . .”

“She changes people’s lives for the better. We’re trying to change people for the better. What’s the difference?”

“A big difference! She’s a human that works with humans! We’re trying to rehabilitate demons!” 

Above the table, Liz leaned towards Alastor and spoke in a low voice, “Do they not realize we can hear them?”

“They tend to be in their own little world as lovers do, my dear.” Alastor gave the whispering duo an affectionate grin. 

Meanwhile, the ‘secret’ conversation continued. “Charlie, I have this terrible, terrible feeling this is going to end in disaster.”

“We’ll handle it when it happens . . .I mean ‘if’ it happens. Do you really want to kick a human and her comatose father out on the street?”

“Well . . .no.”

“A human with her background might have insights we don’t about redemption.”

“Then why do so many humans end up down here?”

“Humans go to Heaven too, Vaggie.”

“True, but . . .”

“I have a good feeling about this. Please, trust me on this.”

“I trust you. I really do, but it’s this situation I don’t trust.”

By this time, Razzle and Dazzle pushed a dinner cart from the kitchen and began serving dinner. As they set covered plates before the guests and at their mistress's empty seats and her paramour, they seemed undisturbed by Charlie kneeling on the floor and whispering with Vaggie. After everything Liz had seen and experienced in Hell, it seemed of little consequence of dinner being served by little goat demons that resemble stuffed toys. They were actually kinda cute.

“What do we have to lose by having her on board?”

“I don’t know . . .” Vaggie said, not willing to concede. “But alright. Your mind is made up, but please promise you won’t rush headlong into this.”

“Thanks, Vaggie, and I promise we’ll be careful.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Liz couldn’t help being touched by the tender exchange but kept a neutral, pleasant expression when they rose from behind the table. “Yes?”

Charlie cleared her throat. “Ms. Carter . . .”

“Just call me Liz.”

“Oh, uh, Liz, I am happy to welcome you aboard the Happy Hotel.”

“Thank you, I hope I can make a difference here.” Liz paused, thinking for a moment, and said, “The demon who stabbed my father did it while trying to kidnap me. And he’s still out there. I don’t want to bring trouble here . . .”

“You’ll be safe here,” Charlie assured her with a wide smile. “The hotel has special wards in place to keep out anyone who doesn’t use the front door and Husk watches the door . . .all the time!”

She left out that Husk tended to take cat naps throughout the day, but Alastor had his own wards and shadows guarding the hotel to supplement the protection. Especially after the snake demon in the blimp attacked on the hotel’s opening day. 

“And my father can rest here until he recovers?”

“Of course! He’ll be safe here too.”

“Thank you. And I want to say you’re making progress with Angel Dust. He’s a good guy. He dropped everything to come find me when I was on the P.P. District.”

Vaggie’s eye went wide. “Holy shit! Are you okay?”

“It was rough, but I’m okay,” Liz replied. 

“Uh, what’s the P.P. District?” Charlie asked innocently. 

“Oh, I’ll . . .I’ll tell you about it later, hon.” Vaggie said quickly. 

***

Liz toed off her shoes, feeling better than she did since yesterday. Marty was still alive, she had secured them a safe place, and finally had something constructive to do while she was stuck in Hell. And dare she say, she made some friends down here too.

“We’re going to be okay, Dad. You’re going to wake up soon, and maybe I can get you redeemed and on your way to Heaven.”

Marty’s silence had become the expected answer. 

She crawled over to hug him, drawing her arm across his chest, above the scabbed wound, and pressed her face into his neck. “Dad . . .you’re going to be okay. When Angel Dust gets here with that feeding tube, I can get some protein in you and your body can start healing.”

There was no guarantee it would work, but it was the only hope she had, and she would embrace it for now. The thought of Marty never waking up or dying was unacceptable to her. He would not die because she wasn’t going to let that happen.

When Angel finally arrived, he stormed into their room without knocking. “What the fuck, Liz? You’re the Redemption Consultant!?”

“Oh, you heard?” Liz said, sitting up and scooting off the bed. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s bullshit! Here’s your tube!” 

He thrust out a fist with a clear tube wrapped around it. Liz was relieved to see it came with a small funnel attached. She took it from him and examined it carefully for any tears or holes. “This looks great! Thank you! I need to boil this and mix up some eggs for him.”

“Do ya really think this is gonna work?” Angel looked between her and Marty and gave the tube a doubtful look.

“It’s the best shot he has. Alastor said demons who go without sustenance tend to not be able to heal. I saw it for myself in the Lirkin MIll where demons were constantly tortured until their regeneration burned out. It’s like an engine. You have to give it fuel to keep it running.”

“Fine, whateva, but what about this consultant business?” His lower hands were fists on his hips, and his upper arms were crossed as he demanded an answer. “What the hell are you thinkin’?”

“Too many people here alread know I’m human. You do. Husk found out last night and Alastor already knew, and I think this Nifty might have seen me last night. Anyway, I wouldn’t be able to hide it for long by pretending to be a Sinner seeking redemption. And this way . . .they won’t kick us out.”

“And I told you, the Princess has a soft spot. She wouldn’t have done that.”

“I know, she seems nice, but . . .I want to do this. If it’s possible to get a demon into Heaven, then maybe Dad can go to Heaven too.”

“Oh, shit!” Angel looked as if he were going to be sick. “It’s a joke, you know, that right?”

“I know, but have you really tried? Be honest, have you really followed through on any form of redeemable actions?”

“I stopped smokin’ and drinkin’ for one day . . .but I kinda passed out from a hangover . . .” Angel Dust cast a hard look at Liz. “Lissen, doll, if you think you’re gonna wrestle the drugs and booze outta my hands . . .I’ll tell everyone ya gotta a third nipple on your ass.”

“No, I don’t!” Liz gaped at him. 

“Ya gonna drop your pants to prove me wrong, doll?” He gave her a nasty leer. 

“Look, having me as a consultant is not all bad. I’m giving you a heads up that Vaggie is going to search your room for contraband tomorrow.”

“So? She won’t find shit! I know how to hide my stash.” 

“Yeah, but she wants me to help her look and I’ve run rehabilitation centers where I personally conducted drug searches.”

“Yeah?” Angel Dust loomed over her, his boots parted in a challenging stance.

Liz wouldn’t let him intimidate her. She squared up with him, looking up to meet his eyes. “Unless you think you’re more clever than drug addicted teenagers who can hide anything from guns to weed, I suggest you remove your stash from your room tonight or watch me flush it down the toilet tomorrow.”

“Watch it, sweetheart. You’re scrawny enough to go down that toilet next.”

“Angel, I hope you bring this same energy to therapy tomorrow,” Liz said, stepping around him to leave the room. She had a tube to boil and eggs to whisk. “Because tomorrow we’re going to explore cognitive behavior therapy tomorrow.”

Angel stuck his head out the door and called after her, “Hey! If that involves tubes going anywhere inta me that’s gonna cost ya! A lot!”

***

It wasn’t easy getting the tube through Marty’s nostril. She did it with the utmost care, but it was awkward because of his snout and she had to check down his throat several times to make sure there’s no coiling. Once she had it inserted, she had a cup of whisked eggs waiting. 

“Alright, Dad, bon appetit.” 

Liz drizzled the eggs down the tube, bit by bit, watchful for any signs of gagging or choking, stopping every now and again to check his breathing. When the eggs were gone, she checked the white hairs on his ears. It hadn’t seemed to have spread, but still found them odd. 

Curling up next to Marty, she held his hand and took joy in the slight pressure reflexively squeezing her back. She took it as a sign that she was doing the right thing and it lulled her to sleep. 

Not long after she fell asleep, the dim room darkened as a shadow slithered across the floor like an inky eel through water. It pooled at Liz’s side of the bed and rose into a tall figure which loomed over her sleeping form. It stood there for many hours, reliving an old precious memory of blood and exhilaration of a successful hunt. 

  
  



	29. Arc 5: Welcome to the Happy Hotel - Session 1

_ “Mom, I’ll be by to pick you up at 9:00.” _

_ “Lizzie, you don’t need to pick me up. I cancelled the appointment.” _

_ “What? Why?”  _

_ “Because I’m not going.” _

_ “Mom, you have to go. I know the treatments are rough, but they’ve work before . . .” _

_ “Honey, come over and we’ll talk about it.” _

_ “No, we can talk about it over the phone. Why don’t you want to go?” _

_ “Because I’ve decided not to get treatment this time.” _

_ “Mom . . .the doctor says . . .if you don’t do the treatments, you’ll be dead in three months.” _

_ “I know, baby. I know.” _

_ “Oh Mom. . ..” _

_ “It’s alright.” _

_ “But . . .” _

_ “Come over and we’ll talk about it, okay?” _

_ “ . . .okay.” _

***

“That’s the day I found out Mom was ready to die.”

Marty lay immobile save for the slow rise and fall of his chest. Liz held his hand between hers, finding the warmth of his hard skin soothing. 

“I got so mad at her. We must have argued for hours that day. Mom said she was done with being sick and in pain all the time, and I kept telling her the doctors were coming up with new treatments all the time. We could get her into a clinical trial or go anywhere that offered better options. She said no to all of it.”

Rubbing the back of his hand to hopefully elicit a reaction, she continued, “I guess I was being selfish as I didn’t want to lose her. I moved out of my apartment to live with her. I told her it was to help her, but I just . . . I guess deep down I believed that she wouldn’t die on me if I was there with her. I even slept in the same bed as her. Told her it so I would be on hand to help her to the bathroom at night, but I didn’t want her to be alone.”

She wiped away the tear rolling down her cheek. “Just like I don’t want to leave you alone. Dad, if you’re gonna die . . .wait until I’m here with you so you won’t be alone.” 

Kissing his cheek, she told him, “I’ll come back later and tell you about my first day as a Redemption Consultant.”

And many hours later, she returned and told him about her day as she fed him more whisked eggs through the feeding tube. “Sooo, my day started with having coffee with the Princess of Hell who is actually a sweetheart.”

***

“So tell me about your therapy sessions with Angel Dust.” Liz blew gently on the cup of steaming coffee, which Charlie said was the rainbow blend. “Is he congenial to the sessions or had problems opening up? Any progress?”

“Weeeellllll,” Charlie grimaced over her own coffee and took a long pull from it to buy her time to think. 

Based on Angel Dust's past behavior and attitude, Liz wasn’t expecting it had been easy to treat the foulmouth willful pink spider. Offering an encouraging smile, Liz waited patiently. 

“We actually don’t get very far into therapy before it . . . ends.” For a moment, Liz believed she was going to have a nosebleed. 

“Does he get aggressive?” Recalling the spider Mafioso's disposition for violence, Liz could see Angel Dust becoming argumentative during a session. 

“No, well, sometimes a little bit,” Charlie held up a thumb and forefinger with a small space apart. “It’s mostly Vaggie who gets aggressive.”

“Does Vaggie conduct the therapy?” 

“We both do.”

Liz’s eyebrows rose in confusion. “How do you conduct the session?”

“We try to make Angel understand premarital sex and drugs are sinful and he should stop to get into Heaven.”

_ Oh, dear.  _ Hoping to maintain a neutral face, Liz set her cup on the table and curled her hands around it. “You wouldn’t have been . . .waving a bible at him by chance

?”

“We do read from the bible . . .”

A disgusted shiver rolled down Liz’s back as she recalled the horror stories of gay conversion camps and religious pseudo-therapists who thump the bible at people suffering from trauma and confused by their sexuality. The ones who pray away mental illness instead of treating it with medication and proper counseling. 

Sometimes religion does more harm than good.

“And why does Vaggie get aggressive?”

“Angel Dust likes provoking her until she’s in a fury. Sometimes I have to pull Vaggie back from perforating him with her spear.” 

“I see . . .Charlie, would it be alright if I conduct a therapy session with Angel. You and Vaggie can observe as long as you don’t interfere.”

“Well, Angel can be a bit . . .mean sometimes.”

“That’s fine,” Liz said, unperturbed. “I’ve dealt with upset clients before.”

“Right, but . . . Angel is . . .he can be a bit lewd . . .”

Liz shrugged, “Has he ever try to physically harm you or Vaggie during a session?”

“No . . .”

“Then it’ll be fine. Charlie, I’ve conducted therapy sessions where clients have screamed, threatened, and spat at me. Angel can say whatever he has in his, what I am sure is an extensive library of sex jokes and insults.” 

_ And he has plenty of ammunition to use against me since we had sex. On top of that, he won’t be happy with me searching his room.  _

_ *** _

Angel Dust was not happy. Not happy with Liz at all. She came in with Vaggie and went through his room. The places that Vaggie overlooked, Liz went straight to and found his stashes. She checked all his shoes, pulled out the drawers, and looked inside the interior. She even found the bottle of vodka he hid under Fat Nuggets' bed! 

“Lizzie, doll, do you remember when I saved your ass from killer robots?” He groused from the bed, all four arms crossed. 

“I remember and I appreciate you for saving me.” Liz said, turning out the pockets of his jackets hanging in the closet. 

“And how I watched out for ya in the Midnight Song and Von Eldritch manor?”

“Yes, Angel, and I’m grateful for that too, but you should recall that my father paid you to do that,” Liz replied without the slightest bit of anger or shame. 

Vaggie was on her knees, looking under the bed with a flashlight. She had to push Angel’s legs out of the way to get a better look. “All clear under here.”

“Whattaya think I am? An amateur?”

“No, you’re not an amateur,” Liz said, pulling hanging coats and jackets out of the closet. “But neither am I.” 

“What the fuck are you doin’?” Angel jumped up, almost stepping on Vaggie’s hand. “Those are expensive, bitch!”

“The hanger rod is hollow,” Liz said, neatly laying the clothes on the bed with the utmost care. “I have to look inside it.”

“It’s not hollow!” 

“It is,” Liz replied firmly. 

Sure enough, it was not only hollow but contained several sticks of marijuana and a rolled up dime bag. 

Vaggie took the contraband and shot Angel a nasty look. “I knew it!”

“Liz, I’m gonna shove that rod sideways up your ass!” All four of Angel’s hands tighten into fists. 

“Sorry, Angel, I don't have any money to pay you to do that,” Liz said neutrally. 

“I’d do it for free!”

“Angel, don’t you dare . . .” Vaggie suddenly produced a spear with the pointed inches perilously from Angel’s throat. 

“It’s alright. Angel has the right to be angry with me and express his feelings.” Liz began returning the clothes to the closet, taking great care with the garments. “I think we’re done for today. We have a therapy session in a couple of hours, Angel. Is it okay if I conduct the session?”

Giving her a leering scowl, he said, “Think ya can handle me, baby?”

“We shall see.”

***

“It’s been years since I conducted a session. I’ve been too busy working on Swanhouse and helping families in crisis.” Liz gave the tube a slight shake to make sure the rest of the egg went down and set the cup aside. “I think you’re getting better, Dad.”

The wound in his chest had closed over, and the flesh was beginning to knit with white scar tissue mottling the dark skin. Even the injured side of his face was healing. The ocular socket had mended itself, and she was sure his eye was regrowing. 

The white hairs had spread to cover the interior of his wolfish ears, and a few strands of his jet black hair turning white. She still had no clue where they were coming from, but judging from how he was healing, she didn’t take it as a bad sign.

“Well, it began as I thought it would. 

***

The therapy room looked like a cross between the scratchings of a mad man trapped in an asylum and a kindergarten where the teacher allowed the students to finger paint the walls. There were rainbows, the imagery of demons sprouting angel winds and ascending to a cloud with bright golden rays bursting from the top. There were even paintings of puppies and kittens gamboling on a meadow dotted with little flowers. 

“Wow . . .” Liz stared in horror at the monstrosity around her. “Is this where you conduct therapy?”

“Yes!” Charlie did a little spin in the middle of the room, proudly displaying it like an overeager retail agent. “I did it myself! I was going to use it for art therapy, but it didn’t work out so well.”

“What happened?” 

“Angel drew dicks on the walls. Most of the clouds are to cover up his work.”

“Ah, I can see him doing that.” She recalled his artwork back at the Lirkin Mill when he used dicks instead of arrows to lead them through the maze. “Charlie . . .perhaps I can make a suggestion?”

“Sure! More rainbows?”

“No, it’s . . .well, most therapy rooms need to be comfortable.” Liz thought for a moment to think of the nicest way she could say this. “This room is a bit too . . .I understand what you’re wanting to do, but . . .this room is a bit . . . it doesn’t present a calming nature.”

Charlie was deflating, glancing around the room. “I . . .well, I thought that rainbows would help.”

“It’s a nice thought . . .but therapy sessions can be a bit intense. Sometimes having a soothing environment can help clients open up, be more at ease with talking about their problems.”

“So . . .we should change the room?”

“You don’t have to. Art therapy is a useful tool. Keep this room the way it is for Art Therapy only, and we’ll set up another room for therapy sessions.”

Down the hall was a small tea room that Liz deemed would be suitable. It was cozy with a plush couch and a comfortable armchair. After rearranging the furniture, Liz decided it was ready for her first session with a demon Sinner.

“Hello, Angel, how are you feeling today?”

“Like shit. You took my stash!” Angel gave her an obvious look from where he was perched on the sofa. 

Liz reclined back in the heavy armchair, her feet almost off the floor as it was meant for demons taller than her. Over Angel’s head, she could see Charlie watching eagerly on the other side of the room. 

_ She’s expecting a lot . . .perhaps too much. I hope I don’t disappoint her. _

No, her job was to focus on Angel Dust, not Charlie’s expectations. “Are you angry with me?”

“No shit! I’m fuckin’ pissed off!” Angel glowered at her, eyes narrowed, and arms locked together across his torso. 

“I’m sorry you’re angry with me. Do you want to put off therapy until you’re feeling better?”

“Nope, I’ve been lookin’ forward t’ this, sugartits.” He grinned maliciously, which sent a chill down her spine at the sight of his sharp teeth in a slasher smile. 

“Okay, then let’s get started. We already know each other so we don’t have to introduce ourselves, but I do want you to understand this is a safe place and whatever is said will not leave this room. And if we ever talk about something you’re uncomfortable with, we can change the topic or stop the session altogether.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure whateva,” Angel Dust huffed, laying down on the couch and propped his long legs over the arm of the couch. “Head shrink away!”

“Alright, is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Yeah, your face when you cum.”

_ We just got started and he’s opening up with both barrels.  _

She had already told Charlie about her liaison with Angel Dust, so there were no surprises, but the princess was gaping at them. This is why a therapist shouldn’t sleep with clients, but damn if Angel Dust didn’t want to get under her skin. He was likely getting back at her for confiscating his stash.

“How did my O face make you feel?” It was a struggle to keep her voice neutral. Angel caught her off guard, but she wasn’t going to let him derail the whole session. 

“Ya know how those puppies tilt their head when they hear a weird sound? It was like that.”

“Cute?”

“No, like you didn’t know what the hell it was. When was the last time you cum, baby?”

“I will confess it had been a while before then,” Liz shifted on the chair to lean forward. “Which brings up my next question. How do you feel about being a sex worker?”

She noticed the slight jump of his eyebrows, which he quickly cooled into a nonchalant shrug. “It’s fine. I have sex all the time and get paid doin’ it.”

“Sounds like a good life. Getting paid doing what you enjoy,” Liz replied. 

“Yeah,” Angel Dust turned his gaze up at the ceiling.

“Do you have bad days at work?”

“Who doesn’t? Some schmuck wants me to blow him, but don’t see how he hasta pay. Feeds me a line of bullshit of ‘but baby, I thought we had somethin’ special’. Hey, asshole, your babydick ain’t made of gold.”

“Sex work isn’t the most respected of professions. Has anyone ever tried to hurt you?”

“Sometimes . . .yeah,” Angel sat up abruptly, placing both boots on the floor. With his lower arms hanging between his knees and his upper arms crossed over his chest, he sank back against the couch in a tired slouch. “I can handle myself though. Broke this guy's jaw for tryin’ t’ grope me for free a few nights ago.”

“Do you do other things for your job other than sleep with clients?”

Usually, she wouldn’t pry, but being a sex worker was a huge part of what she knew of Angel’s identity. If she could peel back some layers to reveal more about him. 

“Yeah. I dance and do porn. Ya wanna watch my best selling film? Along came a Spider? It’s me and these three guys and a hose …”

“I will definitely watch it soon,” Liz interjected as she saw Charlie’s face going bright red. Then something clicked in her mind as something didn’t make sense. “Angel, may I ask you a personal question?”

“Ain’t that what therapy is ‘bout? Ya riflin’ through my personal shit!” An amused toothy smile spread across his face. 

“Okay. How much money do you make?”

“What? Why ya wanna know that? I make bank everyday!”

“Okay, but why do you need room and board in a place that forbids smoking and drinking?” Liz’s intuition told her everything wasn’t as rosy with Angel’s job as he made it out to be. “If you’re stripping, doing pornography, and sleeping with clients, then why aren’t you making enough money to move somewhere you can do as you please?”

“Because I spend it all on clothes, drugs, booze, and Fat Nuggets!” Angel’s voice cut across her as he looked about to leap to his feet in apoplectic rage. “What’s it matter to you where I spend my money, bitch!?”

Charlie was on her feet, ready to intervene, but Liz held up both hands to motion for Charlie to stay back and to mollify Angel. “I’m sorry, Angel, you’re right. It shouldn’t matter to me. Do you want to take a break or stop the session?”

He was still bristling but lowered himself onto the sofa. Confusion jumbled his expression as he had been expecting a row and seemed deflated when she deescalated instead of engaging with his call to arms. “No, I’m good.”

“Alright, we’ll change the topic then. Have you seen Arackniss lately?”

“No, why? Ya need ‘im for somethin’?”

“No, I was just curious if you and Arackniss hang out.”

“No, we don’t hang out. The mill was the first time I saw ‘im inna few years.”

“But you went there to find him. How did you know he was missing?” 

“My Pops called me and said he was missin’. Thought I mighta known where he was,” Angel said, shifting on the couch with his knees apart like a kid sitting outside of the principal’s office. 

“Do you speak with your father often?”

“Not if he can help it,” Angel laughed dryly. “If it wasn’t for precious boy Arackniss gone missing, he’d pretended I’d never existed.”

“Why would your father pretend that?”

“Why do ya think? I’m gay. Everyone in your generation may be waving rainbow flags and having pride parades, but that wasn’t happenin’ back in 20s Brooklyn.”

It was as she suspected. Back then, being gay was considered a mental illness or peculiarity of character. And no doubt it was seen as a weakness in the masculine oriented mafioso of old. And unfortunately, even today, she’s seen far too many runaways and homeless shunned by their families for their sexuality or not being their assigned gender. It was bad enough today, but for it to happen back when Angel was alive must have been even worse. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Angel. That must have been painful for you.”

“S’okay,” Angel muttered, reaching into his jacket and taking out a cigarette pack. “Ancient history by now.”

“True, but even terrible things that happen in our childhood can continue to cause us pain in the present.” Liz thought about her abusive grandmother and the sudden moments of anger she experienced when she dwelled on her miserable childhood for too long. “Was it just you and Arackniss?”

“There was Molly, my twin sister. She was a sweetheart . . .she knew I was gay, hell, maybe before I did. And didn’t think nothin’ of it.” 

“Tell me about her.”

A somber demeanor came over Angel, and he leaned back, crossing his legs, and lighting a cigarette. “She may have been a sweetheart, but she was damn tough. She’d throw herself between me and Pops’ belt when he was really goin’ at me.”

“What about Arackniss? Did he ever try to help you too?”

“Him? Not with Pops. He was the favorite. Took after Pops in looks and attitude.”

“Back at Lirkin Mill, you mention working with him in the mafia. You two must have had a relationship.”

“Oh, yeah, when we were runnin’ drugs or takin’ out the coppers and competition, we was great t’gether.”

Liz agreed. They had been fearsome fighting side by side, gunning down chainsaw-wielding robots as they came barreling towards them. “You searched for him because you care about him. And he went back into the mill to look for you because he cares about you.”

“Stop with the mush.” Angel muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“What is keeping you two from hanging out now?”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Angel, our session is almost over. Let’s end it for today and you can take time to think about the answer to my question.”

“Whateva,” Angel expelled a smoke through his teeth as he rose. “This wasn’t as bad as I thought . . .I guess I don’t gotta put you down the toilet after all.”

***

“Liz, I don’t know how you did it. You had a complete session with Angel Dust!”

“He’s never completed one?”

“No! It usually ends with him fighting with Vaggie or I’m too embarrassed to continue. I just . . . I don’t know how you did it! I was afraid when he became angry . . .”

“It’s alright. He was triggered and reacted in a way to rebuff me from prodding too deep. When that happens, apologize and empathize to deescalate and then move onto a safer topic until it's safe to bring it back up again.”

“You didn’t mention anything about redemption.” 

“This session was to get to know the patient. Next time, we’ll dig a bit deeper into his family and then maybe the next session after that, we’ll try to talk more about his job when he’s more comfortable with sessions.”

A discomforted frown dampened Charlie’s spirits. “How long before you think he’ll be redeemed?”

“I don’t know, hon. It’s up to him. Therapy takes time before we arrive at any major breakthroughs. Usually it can take months or years before hard progress is made.”

“Oh no . . .we . . .we don’t have that kind of time.”

“Of course, you do. Demons are immortal.”

“Liz, it’s six months until the next Cleanse.”

“What do you mean? What’s the Cleanse?”

“Oh dear . . .you don’t know?”

***

Having Marty close gave her some comfort but also troubled her deeply. “I thought that the bastard was trying to scare me with his story of angels killing demons. Why didn’t you tell me, Dad?”

She rolled onto her side, eyeing Marty with an angry look. “Were you protecting me by not telling me about the angels coming down to kill everything in sight?”

There was no forthcoming answer, but she could hear it all the same. Marty would tell her she would be home long before the Cleanse happened. And that did very little to comfort her. 

“How did you survive it thirty times? Huh? I mean, how do people function knowing once a year there’s an invasion of angels? Maybe that’s why they want drugs, booze, and sex so they can forget what’s coming.”

Her phone buzzed with a text message. She fumbled it out of her pocket and checked the screen.

**Shard** : Has Marty died yet?

She gritted her teeth, recalling how he had blamed her for Marty’s condition. Her scalp still tingled from where he had pulled her hair. And as much as she hated it, he was right. The White Demon had gone to their apartment after her. She had been the one to put the angel knife into his hands to stab Marty with. And Marty had been putting himself at risk to help her. 

“I want to be cruel and ghost him . . .” Liz sighed, looking down at Marty. “But he’s not the only one to act out in anger or fear.”

**Liz** : He’s still alive. He’s healing but hasn’t woken up yet.

There was a brief pause, then ellipses followed.

**Shard** : How?

**Liz** : TLC.

**Shard** : I’m sorry for blaming you the other night. Marty has been my partner for over 30 years, and I hated seeing him like that.

Liz remembered the tender moment Shard and Marty had shared before going to the Midnight Song. She supposed she couldn’t really fault him for being upset. He had known Marty a long time. 

**Liz** : It’s okay. I’m taking care of Marty, and I will text you when he wakes up.

**Shard** : I have the money Tony Shard was going to pay Marty for his intel on Rathel. He’d want you to have it. 

Having money again would help them out. Marty had already lost so much money and then his apartment because of her. The least she could do was get his money for him while he was hurt.

**Liz** : Bring it to the Happy Hotel.

**Shard** : No. I have a reputation to uphold. No way am I going there.

_ Wouldn’t he want to come to see Marty? _

**Liz** : Then, where?

**Shard** : There’s a bar called Licker’s several blocks from Marty’s apartment. Meet me there at noon.

**Liz** : I don’t know. Is it safe for me? 

**Shard** : It’s safe. Anyone there is so deep in their cups they won’t notice anything. 

**Liz** : Okay, but I’m not coming alone. I’ll see if someone here is willing to take me.

**Shard** : Word has it the Radio Demon is co-running the hotel. Do not bring his spooky ass to the bar unless you want to deal with drunks running around in circles.

**Liz** : Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you.


	30. Arc 5: Welcome to the Happy Hotel - Elsewhere . . .

**Two nights ago . . .**

The halls were narrow, almost suffocatingly small. Most would say it was to install more rooms in the long halls, but Jesse and others who live there knew the truth. It made it difficult to hide.

So far, he’s eluded them, but for how much longer? It was delaying the inevitable, and he could only stay out of sight for so long. 

His stomach ached with hunger, and food was heavily guarded and rationed out in strict portions in CandyLand. Not to mention a regular inventory count would quickly determine a theft, and an innocent party would be punished until the culprit came forward. 

Jesse tiptoed at a steady pace. The walls were thin here, and while its occupants were accustomed to coming and going of others at all times of day and night, they would notice someone running or walking at a hurried pace. It usually served as a prelude to violence, and some took entertainment in it. If he could get to his room, which he was sure had already been searched, he would buy himself another night at least. 

A door opened, and a blue eye with a black slit peered at him. “Jesse? Are you okay?”

“Shhh, Greta, please go back to bed.” 

“Asher and his goons have been looking for you.”

“Yeah and if they find me while we’re talking then you’re gonna get punished too. Go back to bed.”

“Here. Take this.” The door opened a bit more, and a teal colored hand offered a piece of dried jerky. “Here. You must be hungry.”

“Jeez, Greta, you didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t steal it. I saved it from dinner. No rules against hoarding food from rationed meals.”

“Greta, you don’t have to…”

“Shut up and take it. Eat it quick before someone sees and tries to steal it for themselves.”

He took the jerky and shoved it into his mouth, folding it in half for it to fit. It wasn’t seasoned or flavorful, but a hungry stomach didn’t care. He chewed viciously, his cat teeth making short work of the dried meat, and swallowed it all in one gulp. 

“Thanks…” 

“Now go before you get caught.”

The door shut with a soft click, and Jesse was left alone in the narrow hall. He quickly, but quietly as possible, made his way to his room. The door was identical to the rest, save for the number 302.

He opened the door and went inside. The rooms were small, with barely enough room for a single bed and with the three of the Dicisplinary Committee waiting for him inside, it was very crowded indeed. Jesse knew it was inevitable - they would eventually catch up to him. However, knowing what’s coming didn’t make him anymore ready for it. He tried to back out of the room, but he was caught and pulled inside. 

“Strip him. Strip him down.”

“Hold him still. He’s a squirmy little shit.”

“What’s the matter, Jesse? Brave enough to break curfew, but too pussy to face the consequences?”

“Stop! Leggo of me! Don’t!”

The only purpose begging served was to sate their sadistic hunger and prevent them from thinking he would put on a brave face. The punishments tended to end sooner if you broke right away. No one in CandyLand wanted the Disciplinary Committee coming after them. The trio was the most feared and hated as they distributed pain with the joy of a Santa Claus throwing candy at a parade. 

Annie the Ant, a four armed bitch with antennae curled into tight spirals. Black eyes, usually neutral, betrayed a gleam of pleasure as she pinned his arm and shoulder to the floor. And there was Zip the Imp, a mean red bastard with horns curled away from his face and amber eyes maliciously watching him squirm as he tore away his clothes. As bad as these two were, they didn’t compare to the ruthless Asher. Like his name, his fur was the color of ashes. An ursine face was twisted into sadistic pleasure as he snapped a long leather strap between two large hands. 

When Jesse was stripped and pinned face down on the floor, was when Asher began speaking. “Jesse, why didn’t you show up for your shift?”

The floor was cold and hard, offering no comfort as Jesse gasped, afraid and waiting. Asher always liked to drag things out, to take pleasure in his victim’s misery. 

“Where were you?” Asher asked, taking up position behind Jesse, kicking his legs apart. 

“Taking a long smoke break,” Jesse muttered, and this earned Annie twisting his ear hard enough to make him yelp.

“Uh-huh, sure, whatever.” Asher’s boots could be heard on the floor, perilously close to his tail. “Ya know what I think?”

And he knelt across Jesse’s waist, bringing his mouth close to his triangular ear, the same one Annie had twisted. “I think you’ve been sneaking out of CandyLand. You know that’s forbidden . . .”

“I haven’t . . .”

“Shut up when I’m talking, bitch!” The strap smacked the floor inches from Jesse’s nose, and he cringed. “I fucking know you been out there in Pentagram City when you know goddamn well its against the rules. I don’t know how the fuck you’re gettin’ out, but I’m gonna find out, Jesse, you best believe that.”

“Look, just . . .do whatever the fuck you’re gonna do . . .” Jesse moaned, ready to get this over with. 

“Oh, you ready for this? Do you think he’s ready for this, Zip?”

“I don’t know. We won’t find out until we get started.”

“Alright, let’s get started then.”

Pain lanced across Jesse’s back at the first strike of the strap. He managed to hold back the cries of pain until the fifth strike. Throughout the long halls with their many doors, his screams awakened many who cowered into their beds and glad it wasn’t them being punished. The thin walls prevented much privacy, but it also made sure everyone knew something was being punished for breaking CandyLand’s many rules. 

Rooms away, a teal colored girl with soft feathers and folded wings huddled on her bed and felt terrible empathy for Jesse. A little further down, a big brother comforted his younger brother, covering his ears so he wouldn’t hear the worst of it. 

When it was over, when it was blessedly over, Jesse curled on his side, trembling as his back burned. Asher looped the strap over her shoulder and eyed Jesse’s supine form. “Zip, still got that knife?”

“Yeah, I do, Ash.”

Jesse forced himself onto his hands and knees and tried to make for the door. His tail was seized, and he was yanked back. 

“Give it here.”

“No, no, no, no!”

Another scream, long and filled with agony, ripped down the hall. 

***

Licker’s wasn’t the same, Shard thought to himself. And it would never be the same without his partner. This may well be his last time coming here, so he might as well enjoy the cheap booze until he falls unconscious or gets kicked out, whichever happened first.

“To you, Marty.” Shard raised a shot glass in his honor and tossed it back. It burned on the way down, warming him up from within, and causing a pang of how he would never again feel Marty’s hands on his body, nor would he ever embrace him again.

Marty had been wet behind the ears when Shard first found him. At first, he had seen the wolf-lizard as a useful tough with his ability to go invisible and brought him into Tony Shark’s fold. However, after five years of working with the bastard, Shard developed an attraction for him.

“You poor bastard,” Shard muttered to himself, slicking his hair back from his face. He didn’t know whether he was speaking to himself or to Marty. 

A beer bottle plopped down in front of him. Shard raised his eyes to the bartender. “I didn’t order this.”

“It’s from the guy over there,” the bartender indicated a demon sitting alone at the other end of the bar. 

Shard eyed the fellow who gave him a salute with a black-gloved hand before he rose, taking the beer with him as he approached his benefactor. “Sorry, but you ain’t my type.”

“You’re not mine either, mate, but that doesn’t mean we can’t partner up. Seems like ya lost one.”

Shard cocked an eyebrow as he regarded the demon with a shock of white hair and a single large eye with a white bullseye X in the center. A long white coat hung behind him on the stool, and one of his spiked boots was set on the footrest near the floor.

Shard’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t end you for killing him, you miserable piece of shit.”

“I can give you a couple,” the white demon replied, taking a casual sip from his whiskey, unperturbed by Shard’s hostility. “My job was not to kill your partner. My job was to take the sheila to my client, but she didn’t want to come quietly. When the little bitch tried to stab me in the back with a holy knife, well, the bloke was in the way of the job. You know how it goes.”

Shard did know how it went. You did the jobs you were given by a client or a boss, and if someone got in the way, you dealt with them to get the job done. How many times did he and Marty have to take out someone that got in the way? However, those were other people, and this was Marty he lost.

“Get fucked, you aussie asshole.”

An amused chuckle broke from the jagged lips. “If you want to go outside and have a go, fine, let’s finish our beers first.” He took a long pull from the bottle, tilting his head back unconcerned by Shard. 

“Out of curiosity, what’s another reason?” Shard popped open his beer with a flip of a talon and took a long swig. 

“The sheila tucked away in a hidey hole called the Happy Hotel.”

“No shit?” So that was where Angel had taken Liz and Marty. “And how does that involve me?”

“You draw her out of her hole so I can grab her and I’ll cut you for ten percent.”

“Thirty percent. You killed my partner.”

“Fifteen. I told you that wasn’t personal.”

“Twenty-five. The Happy Hotel is royal territory. Pissing off the King or Queen is suicide.”

“Twenty. True, but all you have to do is to get Lizzie to come out where I can take her to my client. Once I’m paid, you get twenty percent and that’s me being generous on account of your partner.”

“Alright, twenty percent, but I want to know who the client is.”

“You don’t need to know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Shard said, setting the empty beer bottle on the counter. “Call it curiosity to know who is so hot and heavy for the bitch and I don’t work for nameless fucks. I know how to keep my mouth shut, but if you don’t think I can, then feel free to think of another way of weaseling her out of the hotel.”

The white demon sighed, rubbing the neck of the bottle with a thumb. “You spill the beans, you get nothin’, understand?”

“Understood.”

The white demon gave him a name, and Shard’s brows rose. “No shit?”

“No shite.” 

“Makes a little sense now . . .alright, I think I know how to lure her out of there.”

A wide sharp tooth grin spread across the white demon’s face, stretching and ending into curl spirals on his cheeks. “Good.”

***

“Where the fuck did she go!?” 

Blitzo paced the office in a fury. “The client’s been on my ass for an update and what the fuck am supposed to say? We lost the bitch!? She’s out there running around in Imp City giving blowjobs and we can’t find her!?”

“Sir, we don’t know if she’s actually performing fellatio for money,” Moxxie said dryly.

For days, they had been scouring Imp City for the human. After searching the target’s bedroom and the street outside the apartment, it was concluded she had gone through the portal when they saw the human blood on the floor of the conference room. Then it became a manhunt for her. 

Which turned up nothing. No one saw her leaving the building. Not even the homeless imp Blitzo liked watching from the window. And in a city full of imps, non-imps tended to stick out. And it lends itself to the mystery of where the fuck she disappeared to. 

Days later, and still, the human eluded them. 

“She’s probably dead already, Blitzo,” Millie yawned tiredly. They had searched all night, but still, nothing turned up. “This is Hell after all.”

“And we need proof or we don’t get paid!” Blitzo slammed a fist on the table. “So you need to get back out there and find her!”

“Sir, this isn’t . . .if we haven’t found her by now, we’re not going to find her . . .”

“Found her.” Loona, who had been toying with her phone, called from the end of the table. 

“What?” 

“She’s not in Imp City. She’s in Pentagram City . . .on P.P. District.” Loona dropped her feet from the table, held up her phone, and played an uploaded video.

It was of two demons recording themselves scoring with hookers, they were jeering into the camera as they declared their intentions. Loona paused it at the right moment, enlarged the image, and pointed at a dark figure in the background. “That’s her, isn’t it?”

And it sure as fuck was. 

“Well, holy shit, she actually is giving blowjobs for money!” Blitzo declared, marching out of the office. “Get the van ready, Mox, we’re heading for Pentagram City.”

  
  



	31. Arc 6: CandyLand - Jesse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art of Jesse commissioned from @KarasichekBulk

One thing Liz was certain after getting to know the Princess of Hell for a day was she liked Charlie a great deal. Her eagerness reminded her of newcomers' altruism into the field before real life zapped the positivity from their lives and tainted their perception of humanity. Charlie approached everything with a positive attitude and hadn’t let the disastrous interview and failed grand opening of the Hotel dampen her spirit. 

How does a Princess of Hell become such a sweetheart?

She was so full of questions, and Liz feared that she wouldn’t have all the answers. The girl needed to take sociology, psychology, and child development courses, but those were meant to help a social worker rehabilitate troubled humans still living their lives. Not how to redeem damned Sinners to earn a place in Heaven. 

Charlie was perched on the edge of her seat, brimming with questions. “How do I get a patient to open up? Like you did with Angel Dust.”

The limo had a selection of soda drinks and bottled water. Liz held a bottle of water between both hands and thought before she answered. “It’s usually not that easy. What helped was Angel and I already acquainted and I knew a bit of his background which guided me to ask the right questions, if they were the right ones.”

Psychology was a tenuous field of study. You can’t approach each patient with the same methods, and sometimes, or often, patients who are in desperate need of help can’t find the therapist they can connect with. Liz wasn’t confident if she had that connection with Angel yet. It was too soon to tell, though Charlie saw their first session as a great success as it didn’t end in disaster. 

“How would you approach a patient you didn’t know before?”

“Well, you’d ask why they decided to come to the Hotel and what problems they want to fix . . .or why they think they were damned to Hell. And go from there. I know it's a cliche, but asking how they feel about something is a good way to break the ice, but you have to listen and watch them to learn what they want or don’t want to share.”

_ And what they want to hide. _

_ What’s it matter to you where I spend my money, bitch!? _

Should she share her thoughts with Charlie? No, not yet. She could be reading too much into it when Angel was just sensitive about his money. Or is just a natural freeloader. Yet, it was a knee jerk reaction. Within a split second, he went from being amused by the questioning to outright fury, which raised a red flag for Liz.

“Charlie, why do you . . .why do you think all the Sinners aren’t trying for redemption? I always thought that if someone ended up in Hell, they would do anything to go to Heaven, but everyone, my Dad too, thinks it's silly.” Feeling a bit ashamed for pointing this out, she dipped her eyes and added. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Silly isn’t the worst it’s been called.” Charlie drew a hand through her hair, a sign of self comfort. “And my Dad also thinks it’s silly. Says I have no idea what I’m getting into and it’s going to end in failure.”

“You can’t call something a failure if it hasn’t been truly tried,” Liz said, recalling her conversation with Alastor. 

The Radio Demon worked on his own schedule and made an occasional appearance at the Hotel, beaming with that face stretching smile of his. He continued to call her Elisa whenever he saw her, and Liz had a feeling there was something more behind the name than just a simple pet name. 

“I know! Except for Vaggie, no one really takes the Hotel seriously. Not even my first patient!”

“Out of curiosity, how did you approach Angel Dust? Did he sign up or …”

“I saw him standing on a street corner and thought he’d be a good pick. Though, I had to pay for his time to talk to us.”

Warm affection for the princess washed over Liz as she recalled her early days of trying to help young runaways turned streetwalkers. She’d pay them a couple of twenties to talk with her on the street or, if they are willing, go with her to a nearby restaurant for a meal. She talked to them about social programs and shelters that could help and, in recent years, about Swanhouse. Some went with her, but most refused to go. Sometimes it was fear of the unknown or distrust held them back or, worst, misplaced love. 

“If that’s what it takes to reach someone, then that’s what you have to do.”

For the trip, Liz put on blue body makeup once again on her face and wore gloves donated by Vaggie. Another reason she wanted the money was to pay back the princess for the clothes she found in her closet that morning, all in her size. 

“How did you know my measurements?” Liz asked, donning a new pair of comfortable jeans and a red blouse.

“Nifty took them while you were asleep.”

Liz blinked, imagining her sleeping body being measured by unseen hands with a measuring tape and a shudder went down her spine. As much as she appreciated the offer of a wardrobe, she would make sure to be more alert at night. 

***

Liz felt she needed to go by Marty’s apartment to take whatever was still there. Unfortunately, an empty apartment was too good to pass up for the denizens of Hell. It had been looted, stripped of furniture, clothes, and even the blackened tv screen painted over with dark paint.

Well, should she have expected any better? The same thing likely would have happened in New York City in one of the criminally oriented neighborhoods. She could only hope that whoever took Marty’s things actually needed them. Though, it did make her sad. This place had been a home to her for her first days in Hell, a safe place where she got to know Marty. And it didn’t help that his blood still stained the floor where he had been stabbed.

_ Shhhh, darlin', let's not make a racket and wake up the neighbors. _

_ Lizzie! Go! _

_ You could have come quietly, but you didn't want to do that, did you, darlin'? Guess what happens now. _

Marty’s scream echoed throughout the memory of the apartment. Places could hold such memories, Liz had learned early into her career in social work. It clung to the walls like miasma and echoed like ghosts. If you were sensitive, you could feel it as you walk through the scene of rape and abuse and violence. It functioned like PTSD for victims. 

Liz onced interviewed a young victim of horrific abuse and like a child giving a tour of a playhouse, she pointed at different parts of the house. This is where Daddy beat Mommy with the bat! And Mommy tied me to the table so I wouldn’t go outside! And that’s where Daddy shook my baby brother until he stopped moving.

How did they survive it?

She stared at the blood smear on the floor where Marty had bled. There were many footprints where looters had carelessly trek through the blood with a trail going through the main room and out the door. The horror of seeing Marty laying in so much blood chilled her to the bone, squeezing her throat with cold hands. 

“Liz, are you okay?”

Being pulled to the present was like gasping for breath. Charlie’s hand on her shoulder was a tow rope from the trauma. “I’m fine. Just . . .it’s hitting me harder than I thought it would.”

“Do you want to leave? I don’t think there’s anything left.”

“Yes, but I want to check the bedroom first.”

The room had been stripped save for the bed frame and the armoire, which had been turned over with the drawers pulled out. Thank God she had taken the photos from it before leaving. It would have been a huge loss for Marty to have those photos stolen and she certainly didn’t want them circulating for whatever purpose a demon may have for them.

She stared at the bed frame and sighed. What if she hadn’t woken up to use the bathroom? Would the White Demon have waited until they were both awake or snuck in here to steal her away in her sleep? What if Marty had been the one to wake up first? 

_ I can stand here and think of all the endless scenarios that could have occurred, but it would never change what had happened—time to move on. Marty is alive, and he is going to wake up soon. Everything is going to be okay. _

There was a stirring behind the bed frame. At first, she thought it was the best post falling over, but a head raised over the frame, blinking at her with tired yellow eyes. 

“Jesse?”

“Liz?” 

“Oh my god, are you alright?” She hurried around the bed frame, afraid he had been injured, but he was standing by the time she arrived at his side. 

“I’m okay . . .I was asleep.” He yawned, showing off cat teeth, and a scratchy tongue. “Hey, you’re blue again!”

“Yeah, it’s more makeup.”

He seemed no different than when she last saw him, but there was something off. His fur, though usually unkempt, was ragged now, and there was a tilt in his ears. He didn’t seem as active as he was before, his movements slow, with furtive glances from her to somewhere else in the room. And he wouldn’t meet her eyes. 

“Why were you sleeping here?” She asked, touching his arm, smoothing down the fur there. 

“I didn’t know where to find you. I went to the blue ware house, but the guys there say you never stayed there. So I came back here to see if you would come back.”

“I’m staying at the Happy Hotel? Have you heard of it?”

“I . . .I think so. Is your Dad okay?”

“He’s still alive, but he hasn’t woken up yet.”

There was a voice from the door, “Liz, who are you . . .oh, hi?” Charlie stood at the door looking between Liz and Jesse with a cautious friendly air. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Jesse. He was the one who helped us the night that guy tried to kidnap me.” As she introduced Jesse, she drew him with her into the main room and into better light for a good look at him. Something was wrong and it was all too familiar. “Jesse, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine! I’m a little bit tired, but nothing I can’t sleep off.”

He still wasn’t meeting her eye when he spoke. A red flag went up for Liz as she searched his face. 

“Do you want to come with us? To the Happy Hotel? There’s plenty of room and . . .” She started, despite feeling strange about being the one giving the invitation while it was Charlie’s Hotel. However, the Princess was nodding eagerly, beaming at Jesse as potential a new guest. 

Jesse shook his head. “No! I can’t! I have to . . . I’m sorry, Liz, but I can’t.”

More red flags were being raised. Liz took his hand between hers, squeezing hard enough to press his claws into her skin. “Jesse, tell me what’s going on. Why can’t you come to the Hotel?”

He looked away, his eyes lowered from hers. “I just can’t . . .”

Liz glanced at Charlie, who was gazing soberly at Jesse. “Did you make a deal with someone?”

“A deal?” Liz swallowed, feeling her heart filling her throat. If this place was Hell, then deals could only mean something terrible.

“Yeah . . .but, Liz, it’s okay . . .I’m okay.”

“Jesse, please, why won’t you . . .” 

Then it hit her what was off about him. It wasn’t his fatigue or ragged appearance, but something was missing. Without a word, she seized him by the shoulders and turned him around. At the seat of his pants, where his long money tail had once been, a yellow stump protruded with a half healed wound at the tip. All the breath left Liz’s chest at the sight of it. 

“It’s okay, Liz!” His voice was cracking, and hearing it broke her heart. 

She turned him around and took his face between her hands, drawing him close. “Jesse, this is not okay. Who did this to you? Was it the white demon?”

Her fantasy of revenge played itself out again for her mind. Oh, how she’d love to unload both barrels into that asshole’s single large eye. 

“No, it wasn’t him.”

“Then who?”

“Liz,” Charlie whispered, intervening. “Why don’t we go somewhere safer where we can talk about this? We can speak privately in the limo.”

She kept her hands on Jesse’s shoulders, afraid if she let go, he would dash off. “Yes, let’s go get something to eat too.”

***

Jesse ate as if it had been a while since his last decent meal. Liz could chalk it up to his demonic nature, but she knew a hungry kid when she saw one. He devoured his chimken sandwich, inhaled the soda, and even ingested half of her sandwich after she assured him she wasn’t hungry. 

She kept exchanging looks at Charlie, whose mouth was set in a grim line. The princess knew something but wouldn’t say it out loud for Jesse to hear. As much as Liz wanted to take her aside to hear what she had to say, she didn’t dare as she knew Jesse would disappear if she took her eyes off him for a second. 

“Thanks!” Jesse said through a mouthful. “That was good!”

“You’re very welcome, Jesse,” Charlie said gently. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, a bit better.”

_ I have to be patient. I want to demand what happened to him, but it’ll scare him away if I do.  _

Biting her lower lip and taking a chance, Liz said gently, “Jesse, do you remember what happened when you told me about how your step-father hurt you and your sister?”

“Yeah . . .” Jesse said, his ears dipping low. “You wouldn’t believe me about falling into the fence.”

“Yeah, because you were falling into that fence every week and you didn’t seem like an accident prone kid to me. What happened after you told me?”

“You got Jesse . . .Jang-Mi and me out of there and pressed charges against Tim.” 

“Right. Did you ever see Tim again after that?”

“No.” 

_ Because I made sure that the bastard got put in front of the right judge.  _

Outloud, Liz said gently, “And I want to help you again. Charlie wants to help you too. But you have to tell us what happened, okay?”

“Liz . . .this isn’t Earth. You can’t just press charges and get me moved into child welfare. There isn’t anything like that down here.”

“There’s the Hotel. You’ll be safe . . .”

“Yeah, I’ll be safe, but the others . . .”

It was always someone else being held hostage - a younger sibling, a child, a loved one, or even a pet. Jesse fell silent, having said too much. There was a stubborn set in his shoulders she recognized. 

“Who? Is someone else in danger?” Liz asked calmly despite her heart racing in her chest. 

“It’s CandyLand . . .we’re all in danger there.”

“In danger from what?” 

“Being punished.” Jesse was sagging, hands between his knees as if the weight of what he carried was pressing down on him. “By Asher.”

“Asher . . .is he the one who did that to your tail?”

“Yeah.”

Now, this Asher was on her shit list just like the White Demon. “Jesse, honey, what if the others could come to the Hotel. . .”

“They won’t go. They’re too scared.” Jesse shook his head, his ears folded downward. 

He was beginning to tremble, and she knew she was pressing too hard. Her jaw was clenched in silent fury, but she forced it down. Right now, she had to be patient and let him go, when in reality, she wanted to take him straight to the Hotel and keep him safe. 

“Can you come to the Hotel? To talk?”

“I . . .I don’t know. I have to be really careful so they don’t catch me sneaking out. I can maybe make it tomorrow night.”

“Okay, tomorrow night, come to the Hotel if you can. We’ll talk more, alright?”

“Alright.” His ears raised slightly, which she took as a positive sign. 

They dropped him off on a street corner close to the apartment. It hurt to let him go when all she wanted to do was hold him. It was utter bullshit that Jesse had a life of so much pain, and now even in his afterlife he was experiencing more abuse and fear. He was a good kid, so why was he in Hell? 

Charlie had the same feelings about letting Jesse go. Her eyes were sorrowful as the cat demon disappeared down the street. “You knew him from before he died?”

“Yeah, he was one of my kids. I got him and his sister out of an abusive home and into foster care. Jang-Mi thrived with their new parents, but he dropped out of school and joined a gang. He was killed in a drive-by shooting.”

Charlie turned back, shaking her head sadly. “And he’s at CandyLand, of all places.”

“What is CandyLand?” 

“There’s not really much I can tell you,” Charlie said regretfully. “It's a pretty isolated district. They don’t get the internet nor any television over there. The only thing I do know for sure it’s where younger demons go if they don’t have anywhere safe to stay.”

“Maybe . . .maybe Shard knows something?”

***

Where the fuck was she? Claw tips beat a tattoo onto the table as he eyed the door, waiting for the little bitch to rear her intrusive face.

The plan was simple. Once she and whoever arrived with her sat down, he’d order a round of drinks. The waitress with whom Shard had a quiet word with and passed several hundred dollars into her pocket would drop a roofie into their drinks, and he would keep them talking until the drugs took effect. Then he would carry Liz out the back where Izzy was waiting to collect her for his client. 

It was a good plan all ready to be set into motion as soon as the bitch showed up. What broad didn’t come running to collect money?

A buzz from his phone alerted him to a text . . .from Liz!

**Liz** : What do you know about CandyLand?

Blinking at the message, Shard texted back.

**Shard** : Not much. You’re late.

**Liz** : Please, it’s important.

Muttering curses under his breath, he thumbed another message.

**Shard** : Ask your best friend, Angel Dust. His mafia family has been trying to cut into the drug trade in Pentagram City for decades. Are you coming or not!?

**Liz** : Sorry, we can’t make it. Something came up. Maybe I can get the money another time?

“Sonuvabitch!” Shard snarled, slamming a hand on the table hard enough for several patrons to look in his direction. 

He rose from the table and stormed to the door, seething with gnashing teeth. The waitress eyed him, but he shook his head - the plan was off. Going out the back, he saw Izzy smoking a cigarette with his back against the wall and a drink in one hand. With a glance at Shard’s empty arms, he pushed against the wall to stand straight. 

“What happened?” 

“She’s not coming. ‘Something’ came up.” Shard growled, kicking over a garbage can in his rage. “She never makes anything fuckin’ easy!”

“No, she doesn’t,” Izzy said sourly. “Did she say what it was?”

“She was goin’ on ‘bout CandyLand. Wanted to know if I knew anythin’ ‘bout it.”

“CandyLand? Oh, right. . .that kid . . .”

“What kid?”

“Nevermind. Help her with whatever it is she’s doing and keep me updated. We’ll get another opportunity, but you have to stay close to her.”

“Fuck,” Shard muttered, not looking forward to being around Liz without putting his hands around her throat. “Fine . . .”

Shard sent a text to Liz, offering help, as Izzy said. As he did so, he thought about Marty, who was still alive. If that was true, and if Marty woke up as Liz believed he would, he may get his partner back. 

Then things could go back to normal before she came along and messed with his partner’s head. However, Marty would never go along with selling Liz to Izzy’s client. That wouldn’t be a problem if he made sure Liz was out of the picture before Marty woke up. 


	32. Arc 6: CandyLand - Glammed Up

**Liz** : We need to talk.

 **Angel** : Can’t. I’m on the clock.

 **Liz** : Charlie said she’ll pay for your time. This is really important.

 **Angel** : Fine. I’m on Bovine St at the corner. If I’m not there, wait for me, and I’ll come around.

***

It was always hard to see a child return to an abusive home. It was difficult to prove abuse was happening, especially if the victim refuses to speak out. And worse of all, just as P.P. District had all the rapists and sex offenders damned to Hell, all those who abused and exploited children are also down here with no qualms of continuing the sins that brought them down here in the first place.

“Charlie . . .why do you think they . . .all the Sinners keep doing the things that got them sent to Hell? I can understand addiction and mental illness, but the rest of it . . .but wouldn’t being sent to Hell be a wake up call?”

The princess was quiet for a moment, her amber eyes cast downward in a thoughtful silence. “My dad said what Sinners do on Earth, they can continue in Hell because Hell is other people.” 

“And you want to redeem them?”

“They’re my people, Liz.” Charlie raised her eyes to Liz’s, determination etching across her pale face. “Every year, I watch them get slaughtered in Exterminations. It’s . . .it’s actually my job to signal the beginning of the Cleanse and give the all clear sign.”

“Who gave you that job?” Liz grimaced. 

“My dad. He said it was time for me to take on some of the duties of being the Princess of Hell.” Charlie leaned against the windows, staring out the window at the passing buildings. “Until then, I had no idea what the Cleanse meant. I’ve always been kept safe inside my parents' mansion so I never saw it for myself . . .until that first time I signal the beginning of one.”

“Is that . . .why you want to redeem them?” Liz crossed her arms, trying hard not to imagine a slaughter that would haunt even a Princess of Hell. 

“There has to be an alternative. If I can prove there is another way of resolving the overpopulation problem, then maybe . . .maybe we can cancel the next Extermination or at least delay it.”

Liz recalled the failed interview and how Charlie’s altruistic offer was publicly rejected and ridiculed by the same people she wanted to help. How many times had she endured such rejection herself? The protestors at the construction site of a Swanhouse who didn’t want prostitutes or degenerates living in their community? That time she went to speak at a pro-choice rally and called a baby murderer to her face?

“How much longer before Angel arrives?” Charlie’s voice broke into her thoughts. 

She realized the limo had parked near the corner Angel had directed them to wait. “He said to wait so he might be with a john.”

“I hope he’s alright.”

“You worry about him?”

“All the time. I know he has a lot of problems and gets depressed, but he bottles it up.”

“He comes from a time when being vulnerable and traumatized was considered a mental illness, especially in men.” Liz stared out the window, looking for the pink spider too. “He’s had a hard life growing up in a crime family and being ostracized for being gay, so he’s made sex jokes and being crass into emotional barriers.”

And speaking of the devil, Angel Dust emerged from an alley, adjusting his skirt. As Liz had guessed, he must have been with a john before they arrived. The driver, one of Charlie’s goat plush servants, honked the horn, and Angel sauntered over.

Liz rolled down the window, and Angel peered inside, snapped his fingers disappointed, “Damn, I was hoping a hot john in a limo showed up instead.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Liz said dryly, opening the door for him.

Angel climbed inside with the ease of someone returning home and reclined on a seat with a sexy pose - long legs stretched out and back slightly arched to jut out his chest puff. “So what can I do for you, ladies?”

“Remember Jesse?” Liz leaned towards, hands on her knees. “The cat boy who helped us when Marty was stabbed?”

“Yeah, what ‘bout him?” Angel lazily combed a hand through his chest puff, in a bored manner. 

“We think he’s being abused in CandyLand.”

Angel shrugged. “That’s no surprise if he’s in CandyLand.”

“What do you know about that place?”

“Not much,” Angel said, reaching into his chest puff for a cigarette pack. 

“Shard told Liz your family knows about CandyLand,” Charlie said. “It would really help if you can tell us what you know.”

“That’s the problem, sweets,” Angel lit the cigarette and took a long pull. “I haven’t been part of the family for years. They don’t tell me nothin’ of what they’re up to or what’s goin’ on.”

Damn, she should have realized it before now. Still determined, Liz said, “Alright, then we need to speak with Arackniss. He would know, wouldn’t he?”

“Oh yeah, he’s Pop’s right hand. He’d know a lot ‘bout it,” Angel smoked his cigarette for a moment then noticed the two of them staring at him intently. “What? Ya want me t’ text ‘im now?”

“Please?” Charlie offered a supplicating smile. 

“First, show me the cash. I’m still on the clock, sweetheart.” He held out a hand expectantly. 

Then Charlie dropped a huge wad of cash into his hand. Liz blinked, pretty certain it was enough money to pay for a week of Angel’s time, but the princess didn’t seem disturbed at giving away so much money, but then being royalty, she had a vast fortune at her disposal. 

After pocketing the money, Angel pulled his phone from his jacket and thumbed a message. “Here’s hopin’ Arackniss hasn’t blocked me.”

Liz felt uneasy like she was standing at the weak edge of a deep hole in the earth. She was getting tangled up in something dangerous, and soon she was going to step past the point of no return.

A comforting hand touched her shoulder, and she looked over at Charlie, who was giving her a confident smile. “It’ll be alright. If Arackniss won’t help us, then we find someone else who can.”

Wow, this was a change. Usually, she was the one giving comfort. She nodded, patting Charlie’s hand. “Thanks. We’ll find a way together.”

It was a relief to find someone who shared her feelings in helping others who couldn’t help themselves. And it was such a surprise that she would find such a person in the Princess of Hell of all people in Hell. 

“Liz, Arackniss is gonna call ya,” Angel said, drawing her attention to him. “Wants t’ talk to ya ‘imself.”

“What?” She looked at Angel, who only gave her a shrug. Then her phone began buzzing, which she quickly answered. “Hello?”

Arackniss’s deep Brooklyn accent came across with urgent energy. “Liz, ya know a guy on the inside at CandyLand?”

“Yes, I knew him from when he was alive,” Liz replied, wondering at the excitement in Arackniss’s voice.

“Holy shit . . .how are you talkin’ t’ him? They block off all phone service and internet over there.”

“He has a way of sneaking out without anyone knowing.” Liz wasn’t sure she liked his interest in Jesse. And it was better to keep Jesse’s secret about escaping CandyLand through the sewers. 

“Angel says you wanna know ‘bout CandyLand. Come to the Ragnatela Restaurant at Webber’s Lane tonight at 8:00 with Marty.”

Her throat went dry. Arackniss wouldn’t have known what happened. “The other night a white demon broke into Marty’s apartment and stabbed him with a holy blade to kidnap me. Angel Dust and Jesse helped me get away, but Marty is in bad shape.”

There was a long silence from the other end. Liz looked for the bottle of water she set aside to wet her throat. By the time she found it and was unscrewing the top, Arackniss finally spoke, “Does this white demon have an aussie accent? White hair, one eye, and outback hat?”

“That’s him.” 

“Damn. That sounds like Izzy. Someone paid him to come after you?”

“Yeah. Because they know I’m human.”

“They didn’t hear it from me or Anthony,” Arackniss said defensively. 

“No, no, I don’t believe you told anyone. I think I may have been careless.” Among other things, she thought to herself. “Is it alright if Angel comes with me? I need protection in case Izzy shows up again.”

“I’ll put the word out you’re Pops’ guest. Once you’re on our turf, anyone who so much as looks at you funny will have the Family t’ deal with.” There was an audible note of pride in Arackniss’s usually monotone voice. “But ya can bring Anthony along...as long as he dresses and behaves in a way that don’t piss off Pops.”

Instantly, she regretted the request. _To help Jesse get away from his abusers I’m having Angel be around his abusive father in an intolerant environment._

“One moment, please.” She raised her eyes to Angel questioningly. 

“It’s cool, doll,” Angel said, inspecting his fingers offhandedly. “I don’t mind visiting old stomping grounds.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” She didn’t see any signs of discomfort or fear in his languid frame. 

“Alright, Arackniss . . .Angel and I will be there at 8:00.”

After hanging up, she looked at Angel and asked, “Is it safe?” Her thoughts went back to P.P. District, and a heavyweight rolled in her stomach. “Arackniss said it is, but …”

Angel arched an eyebrow at her, then saw something in her face and sighed. “If Niss says you’re safe there, then no one on Webber’s Lane is gonna fuck with ya. Ya can trust him on that.”

***

Liz knew exactly what Marty would say if he learned she was about to have dinner with mafiosos in Hell. 

_Lizzie, are you out of your goddamn mind!? No! I forbid it! Your ass is staying in tonight, missy!_

“Sorry, Dad, this is part of who I am.”

The sequins on the dress refracted the light as she gave herself a spin in the mirror. White diamond drop earrings glittered in almost practiced sequence with the matching necklace and bracelet. A fur shawl draped over her shoulders, keeping the chill off her shoulders. The dress was donated by Alastor for the occasion. When she told him she didn’t need anything so fancy, his response silenced her. 

“You’re about to brush shoulders with ne’er do wells and mobsters, sweetheart. If they see you as a lady so they’ll treat you like one.” Alastor shrugged, though his smile never faltered. “You certainly don’t want them to see you as a moll.”

Liz wasn’t sure what a moll is, but she had her pick between mafiosos treating her like a lady or a moll, then she was choosing lady.

“I wish I was going with you,” Charlie said, adjusting the fishnet veil over Liz’s face. 

“I’ll be alright.” Liz promised, despite the pounding in her heart. “I’ve known Arackniss since my first day in Hell and Angel will look after me.”

“You really trust him to take care of you?” Liz couldn’t tell if Charlie was asking a question or making a statement.

“I trust him. And you pretty much bought out his entire week with the money you gave him. So he’s kinda on our clock.”

“I know it was a bit much.” Charlie admitted with her hands fidgeting nervously. “But he is helping us out and the money isn’t doing anyone any good just sitting in my bank account so why not use it to make someone’s day easier?”

With the veil obscuring her face, she felt almost safely hidden behind it. Instead of blue makeup, Vaggie produced a white powder that coated her skin in a pearlesque shimmer. 

“Wouldn’t this draw more attention to me?” Liz asked though she admired how she looked in the mirror. It made her styled dark hair stand out, and her blue eyes almost glow against her scintillating face.

“Actually it’ll help you hide.” Vaggie stood behind her, smearing the powder at the nap of her neck. “You keep going out with blue skin and people are going to start recognizing you as the blue girl. It’ll help throw off anyone looking for you. And there are more human-like demons than you realize so you really don’t stand out that much.”

Vaggie looked human despite her gray skin and yellow and pink eye, as did Charlie with her pale skin and amber eyes. Liz had even seen some demons she could mistake for people dressing for Halloween. It made her feel better about going out without blue makeup, which, if she was honest with herself, was getting tired of blue anyway. 

Before she left, she took the princess aside and said, “Charlie, listen, if anything should happen to me. . . Something always does whenever I go out, but if I can’t make it back, will you…?”

“Liz, your father is a guest of the Hotel. He’ll be taken care of no matter what happens.”

It hear Charlie’s promise made her feel better, as if a heavy weight was removed from her shoulders. 

***

So many times, she wondered what the hell she was doing. Any sane person would be hiding in the Hotel and not involve herself in demon affairs, but this was Jesse. She had failed him as his social worker when he was alive, and he was in Hell because of it. If she could get him out of CandyLand and into the Hotel. And if he could be redeemed and he could go to Heaven where he belonged. If it involved dealing with mafiosos in Hell to make it happen, then so be it. 

Though she could name more than a few people who would kill to be in her place. It was the feeling she had back at the mill when she realized Angel and Arackniss were old-time gangsters and the stories they could tell about Prohibition, gang wars, and heists - an American historian’s dream. 

And to aid in that atmosphere was Angel’s outfit. It was a bright purple pinstripe suit with a black tie and matching hat with a white feather. She had never seen him wearing anything so masculine before, and he looked pretty damn good wearing it. She supposed this is what Arackniss meant by wearing something that wouldn’t upset their homophobic father.

“Angel, if you don’t want to . . .” She felt terrible if she was forcing Angel to go against his identity in helping her. 

“Honey, it’s fine,” Angel replied as he slicked back his hair and preensed his suit. “I look good in anything. Let’s go.”

Charlie loaned them a Rolls Royce with velvet seats. It was so new, it had that pleasant new car smell and the paint was polished to a bright shine. Having relied upon New York City’s public transportation, Liz wasn’t familiar with cars, but even she could tell it was an excellent model. It purred like a contented lion as it pulled onto the road. 

Looking up at the red sky with the glowing pentagram, Liz decided in its own macabre way, Hell held a chaotic beauty. Like those abstract paintings, which at first glance were very odd to the eye, but if you look at them long enough, you can read the artist's intention. Pentagram City was a megatropolis of darkness and hues with the air of a dark noir crime story held within every shadow or lit window. From her 20’s evening wear and their destination, she might as well be in a black and white noir film.

“Angel, what is Webber’s Lane like?”

“Well, it’s the Family’s turf, but Pops doesn’t shit where he sleeps, so it’s safe as long as ya don’t cause trouble,” Angel replied, taking advantage of having four arms by lighting a cigarette while driving with two hands on the wheel. “And ya pay yer respects. No worries, it ain’t like P.P. District.”

“I know, but will you be safe there too?”

“Hey, Webber’s Lane use t’ be home for me. Everyone there knows I’m Henroin’s kid.” Angel gave her a smirk and returned his eyes to the road. “So long as I don’t piss off Pops, I’ll be fine.”

“What’s your father like?”

“Ever seen any of those old mafia flicks with the foul temper Don?” 

“Yeah?”

“That, but dialed to a ten. Alastor’s smart to dress ya up like a classy dame, so he’s not gonna treat ya like some broad off the street.” He took a long pull on his cigarette and blew the smoke through the cracked window. “And . . .Liz, call me Anthony while we’re there. I don’t give a shit if Pops likes my new name or not, but if you want somethin’ from ‘im, it’s best t’ not piss him off.”

***

She was surprised when Anthony pulled over in front of a shop. It was a bakery of all things with a wide display of cakes, donuts, and pastries all of which actually look tasty for something baked in Hell. 

“What are we doing here? Is this Webber’s Lane?”

“Nah, Webber’s lane is the next district over. Since you’re asking Pops for help, ya shouldn’t go empty handed. Go get a dozen sfogliatellas. They’re Pops’ favorite.” He shelled out a handful of bills and handed them to her. At her worried look, he said, “Don’t worry. The shop owners in this district don’t want no trouble so it’s safe and I’ll be outside smoking a cigarette.”

Liz got out and went inside the bakery where a sheep demon was waiting behind the counter. Angel Dust got out of the vehicle and waited, but his eyes were not on Liz as she ordered the pastries; they were focused down the street. He knew he couldn’t go without paying his dues for long. 

The red limo snaked around the corner like a hungry python. The paint shone as bright as spilled blood with a white heart glowing bright on the hood and the windows were as black as a starless night. Dropping his smoke to the pavement, Angel crushed it under a shoe and approached the limo as it came to a slow stop at the end of the street. He had seen the limo in the rearview mirror a few blocks back and thankfully, doll didn’t notice they were being followed, or she’d be asking questions he didn’t want to answer. 

A window slid down as he drew near and a haze of red smoke escaped into the air carrying a sweet candied scent. A dry chuckle rippled over him, giving him both chills and pleasure. “Angel Cakes, ya look…fine like a glass of wine.” 

Angel felt his throat tighten at the unwanted sensation of pride at the flattery. “I have your money, Val.”

A black gloved hand cuffed in fur extended out the window with an impatient flick of long reddish fingers. Reaching into his suit, Angel produced the wad of cash Charlie had given him earlier, coupled with his earnings before she and Liz showed up. He laid the money on Valentino’s waiting palm, which he snatched like a cobra grabbing prey.

There was a low surrurus of money being sifted as it was counted. Angel waited patiently, hoping this wouldn’t take long as Valentino, the King Pimp of Hell, had been in a foul mood of late, which had only worsened after a bad breakup with on and off lover the TV Demon several weeks prior. The other week, Angel had witnessed him beat a hooker for failing to meet her quota until her spine broke in half. And she was still forced to perform for a gang bang film. 

“Still a bit light, Angel Cakes,” Valentino pocketed the money and eyed through the heart-shaped shades. “Ya ain’t been … holdin’ out?”

Every hair on Angel’s back stood on end. He was in dangerous territory as h any amount of earnings from the Moth Pimp was suicide. If he was in a good mood, the offender might be put on snuff duty for a week or more. 

“O’ course not, Boss. Ya know I know better ‘n that,” Angel said reverently. “It’s just been tough t’ meet the new quotas, is all. I‘ll make up the difference, promise.”

The burning cigarette in the moth’s lips purred as he took a short drag on it. “Who’s your friend?” 

Dread tightened Angel’s throat as he took a glance down the street in front of the bakery. Dammit, Liz’s purchase of the pastries took less time than he hoped as she was standing by the car, watching curiously. From this distance, it was difficult to make out anything peculiar or out of the normal about her, but Valentino had sharp eyes. 

“She’s not my friend,” Angel raised both shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “Just givin’ her a lift to a family dinner with my Pops and Arackniss.”

“Hmm.” The Moth Pimp’s scarlet eyes narrowed slightly, eyeing the slight figure of Liz with an air of a hungry wolf deciding if a small mouse was worth a snack or or. “Bring her over. Introduce us.”

Terror flushed his blood, and it was all he could do to keep it hidden from Valentino’s keep eyes. “Aw, Boss she’s nothin’ special. Just drop down here a while ago.”

Red eyes glinted at him through pink shades, which slowly narrowed into knife-like slits. Angel knew that impatient look all too well. And he knew what followed if he tried the pimp’s patience. Angel tilted his hat over his eyes and left the limo. There was energy running rampant throughout his long legs, but he forced himself to go at a leisurely stroll, motioning Liz over with a wave.

He met her before she could come too close to the limo and before she could speak, Angel spoke in a hushed voice. “Liz, listen very carefully and don’t say anything. Just shake your head no and get in the car. Okay? Shake your head, back away, and get in the car.”

Perplexity and fear clouded her eyes as she took a predictably nervous glance at the limo. Recognition flashed in her eyes, and she shook her head. Then as he asked, she went to the car and got inside, shooting furtive glances at the limo. Shrugging both sets of shoulders, Angel turned on his heel and headed back for the limo. 

Valentino’s eyes burned into his when he leaned towards the window without Liz. Angel gave him an apologetic expression that almost failed to reach his eyes. “Sorry, Val, told her who ya were and she got scared. Not interested in the porn biz, I guess.”

The tip of the cigarette flared hotly, mimicking the smoldering anger behind it. Then a wide, wide grin broke across Valentino’s face, and his gold tooth glinted like a beacon. “Aw, too bad. I have a few patrons interested in her type. She reminds me of a little lady I saw the other night.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“P.P. District,” The moth tapped ash from the cigarette into an unseen ashtray. Angel felt his throat go dry. “I was makin’ the rounds when I saw this scared little thing outside my limo.”

“What happened?” Angel heard himself said, shoving down the fear so he could look casually interested. 

“I offered her a ride,” Valentino blew a streamer of smoke towards the ceiling of the limo through his teeth. “Was even gonna offer her work, but not only did she tell me to fuck off, she said somethin’ I find very curious.”

 _Liz, only you would tell an Overlord to fuck off._ Out loud, Angel asked, “What she say?”

“She said, ‘I work for Valentino. I’m off the clock.’ How is she gonna work for me and not know me?” 

“I dunno, Val, I wasn’t there.” Angel replied, keeping his eyes on Valentino. He feared if he looked at the car, at Liz, Valentino would connect the waif on P.P. District and the lady in the car. “Lots of hoes claim they work for ya t’ get bigger pay.”

Valentino locked eyes with Angel and smirked. “Oh, I know all about that, Angie Baby, and all those hoes end up workin’ for me.”

The window closed in dismissal, and the limo pulled away from the curb. Angel didn’t breathe easily until the limo had passed the car where Liz had wisely turned her head away, feigning checking the contents of the bakery bag. Then it disappeared like a bad dream around a street corner at the end of the block. 

When Angel returned to the car, she turned a white face to him, made deathly pale from the makeup. “W-who was that?”

Angel took out a cigarette and lit it. “Doll face, while you were runnin’ around on P.P. District, did ya see a red limo? That red limo is particular?”

“Yes.” Liz swallowed, glancing down the street where the limo had departed. “I think it was that one.”

“What happened?”

“The passenger offered me a ride. A lot of cars were honking at me and offering me rides. I thought he was some rich john soliciting me for sex. I told him I worked for Valentino and I was off the clock.”

Inhaling the nicotine smoke, Angel studied Liz’s appearance and knew if she had gotten into Val’s limo, she would never have gotten out. 

“Angel, who was that? In the limo?”

“Valentino. My boss.”

“Oh . . .” She sank into her seat as if every bone in her body had left her. “I take it I’d dodged a bullet by not getting into his limo?”

“Doll, ya dodged a fuckin’ missile.” He started the car and pulled away from the curb. “If you see that limo again, just stay away from it and you’ll be fine. Ya got bigger worries t’night with whatever Pops and Arackniss want with Jesse.”


	33. Arc 6: CandyLand - Nest of Spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Hateful slurs against LGBTQ is in this chapter.

Liz didn’t need Angel to tell her they were on Webber’s Lane. It looked like every 1930’s Brooklyn district she had seen in any era film or tv show. And walking the street was an intermingling of demons wearing old vintage clothing with some modern wear. Most of all, what gave it away, was the spider demons. All of them had lanky heights but different colorings and arrangement of eyes. 

They all wore the Broadway suit or some fashion of it. Most were male, but she spotted a female every now and again. Angel would give an amiable nod towards one as they drove past. At her questioning look, he lifted a shoulder. “Family.”

“How big a family did you have?” 

“Pretty big. Got cousins and in-laws by the dozens and their families. Ya gotta understand, we’re comin’ from a time before birth control and legal abortions,” Angel replied. “Ya got a nice girl pregnant, ya married her. Period. Thank God, I never hadda worry ‘bout that.”

“It’s only been my mother and me,” Liz said. 

“What? No brothers or sisters? No cousins?” Angel asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Nope. No one. After Mom died, I was pretty much on my own, until I met Marty.”

“Shit. Musta been real quiet then.”

“So is everyone in your family a spider?”

“Anyone who fell down here is.” Angel tossed a cigarette out the window. 

“Why spiders? Is it a family thing?”

“Maybe. Lotta theories floatin’ around out there about what kinda demons we become when we fall down here. I once heard we was spiders cuz of our ‘web o’ crime’. Dunno if they were on t’ somethin’ or fulla shit.”

Her fear of the close call with Valentino was swept aside by her fascination for Angel’s Family. It looked like the set of an old tv drama or mafia film. The only thing missing were children playing tag or running on the street or women pushing along baby carriages.

“Listen, Liz, call me Anthony while we’re there,” Angel reminded her. “And do not mention anythin’ about me being a pornstar or gay.”

“Your father doesn’t know?”

“Oh, he fuckin’ knows, but waving it in his face is gonna piss him off,” Angel said, turning the car down a street corner. “You’ll be fine, just be polite and respectful. The pastries will butter Pops up a bit.”

They pulled up in front of a building with the word  _ Ragnatela  _ with a large neon image of a spider’s web beside it. Gold light shone brightly through the large windows where she could see demons dining in expensive dress wear, and most of them were spiders. A valet stepped up to the car as they exited the vehicle, and Angel tossed him the keys. 

She decided she would stay close to Angel as much as possible. Adjusting her veil across her face, she walked with him into the restaurant. The pleasant smell of fine food filled her nose, and the sounds of conversation and clinks of plants and silverware played a score. If it wasn’t for the fact the diners were demons, she could swear she was back on Earth in a nice restaurant. 

A host at a podium greeted them with a friendly smile, sharp teeth displayed in a grin. “Do you have a reservation?”

“No, we’re here to see Pops - uh, Henroin. Anthony and Liz.”

There was quick stiffening around the eyes and mouth, but the host didn’t lose his smile. “One moment, please.”

After speaking a few words into a phone, he nodded for them to follow him to the back of the restaurant. They drew a few curious stares, but nothing that made her suspect they were seeing through her disguise. The dress, makeup, and veil were doing their job of keeping her secret.

They were led through a door and down a short hallway where two spiders were keeping guard. They barely acknowledged Angel Dust, but one gave Liz a wink with one of his eight eyes.

Standing in front of another door was a third spider, this one different from all the others. His fur was chestnut brown, and six cold blue eyes peered down at her. At the apples of his cheeks were beauty marks, but then as Liz drew closer, she realized they were actually closed eyes. Half his hair hung loose, almost obscuring the side of his face. What set him apart from all the other spiders was his modern suit, which was out of place in this 1930’s themed environment. The jacket and pants were pitch black with a white undershirt and bright red tie iron straight and tied perfectly beneath the collar, stereotypically like an FBI agent or government agency.

The face was set in an unhappy frown, likely wishing he was doing anything else than standing guard at the door. When they approached, he stepped forward, holding up a hand.

“I have to pat you down letting you up,” the chestnut spider said in a smooth voice with no trace of an accent. It had that professional stiffness that told Liz that whoever he was, he had worked as law enforcement or security. 

“Sure thing, Cousin Danny,” Angel gave him a leer, and his eye twitched as if he stopped himself from winking. “Be sure to watch the hands . . .with the lady here.”

Danny responded with a noncommittal noise and professionally and thoroughly searched Angel and Liz, even looking into the pastries' bag that he handed back to her. There was something off about this spider that unnerved her. It wasn’t just his clothing that set him apart, but his eyes were so cold and detached, lacking any engagement when he met her eyes or Angel’s. It reminded her of children with personality disorders who had a hard time connecting with others. However, while those children were challenging and troublesome, seeing this detachment in an adult demon was deeply disturbing.

The door opened, and Arackniss poked his head through. “Hey, I said t’ let them up.”

“Just doing my job, cousin,” Danny replied, almost tartly. “Uncle put me on security for a reason.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Arackniss fixed a sour look at Danny with all eight eyes and motioned for Angel and Liz to follow him up. 

The stars were narrowed, but maybe that was the point. If someone came up, they were trapped in a kill zone from the defenders having advantage at higher ground. Liz took this moment to study Arackniss, who looked better than when she last saw him being dropped off after the Lirkin Mill incident. His clothing was clean and whole, and though his body shape was still slight and thin, she could tell he had gained some weight after his ordeal. 

Arackniss paused at the top of the stairs and eyed Angel Dust. “Ya gonna hafta wait outside.”

“Whoa . . .” Angel started.

“Wait . . .” She also stated.

“Pops and Mr. White wants t’ talk t’ to her alone and Anthony . . .ya know how ya tend t’ piss Pops off . . .just by being in the same room as him.”

So even dressing in men’s clothes and keeping himself from flirting with another man wasn’t enough. Liz wasn’t sure how Angel acted around his father, but judging from how he tends to make sexual jokes and throw innuendo around, he may have a habit of rubbing the mafia boss the wrong way as a habit. And she also believed from how Angel relaxed his shoulders, he was relieved not to be around his father. 

“I’ll be down at the bar, Liz,” Angel said, looking down at his brother. “Bring her down when they’re done, but remember, Niss, you promised her she’ll be safe comin’ here.”

“I know, Anthony, and Pops knows it too.” Arackniss’s gaze was firm, almost narrowed challengingly. “She’ll be fine.”

Anthony tipped his hat and sauntered downstairs. Liz looked after him, wishing he could stay with her, but Arackniss’s presence gave her some comfort. It brought back memories of them running away from the lumber mill robots and then going back inside the mill to find their loved ones. Since then, she had gotten to know Angel well, but while she did feel some tenderness towards Arackniss, she was aware of the sharp edges of his personality.

“How have you been doing?” she asked.

“Fine,” he replied, leading her down a hall at the top of the stairs. “Took a coupla days to rest, but was back t’ work for the Family soon after. Ya find Rathel?”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t the one either,” Liz sighed. 

“And yer still after Agnes Fuller?” Arackniss paused at the door, looking back at her curiously. 

“Yes, but the search has been put on hold until Dad recovers.” 

“If I hear anything ‘bout her, I’ll send ya a text.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Liz glanced at the door. “So care to explain why your father and Mr. White are so interested in CandyLand and Jesse?”

“Mr. White can explain it better than I can.”

Arackniss opened the door and led her inside the darkroom right out of a mafia film with the only source of light being the hanging bulb above a round table where two figures sat waiting. Her eyes went to the one she knew was Henroin, Angel and Arackniss’s father, without any indication as Arackniss so much resembled him. However, while Arackniss was short and slim, Henroin almost took up half the table with his hairy girth. His fur was dark like Arackniss’s, but thicker like a grizzly bear in winter, and eight red pupiless eyes bisected by thick black eyebrows that extended past the width of his face. Unlike all the other spider demons who had been slim and lanky, he was heavyset like a man who had let himself go with large meals and lack of exercise, but there was a solidarity in his body which told her most of his supposed fat was actually dense muscle. He wore a fedora and a black tie with a gold wristwatch but wore no other article of clothing. She didn’t get the offending sense he was greeting her in the nude, no more than she would have if she saw the pantless Whinnie the Pooh or Donald Duck or the nude Rabbit or Tigger. 

Next to him could only be Mr. White. She had seen demons with white skin or fur, but they were dim compared to the brilliant white spider demon. White fur almost glowed in the dim room, glittering like snow in the sunlight. Six baby blue eyes were arranged in a star pattern around two large prominent eyes, and he wore a matching blue suit with a black ascot tie. He had the usual tuft of hair as most of the spiders of the Family had, but it was shorter, closer, and combed neatly from his face. 

While Henroin seemed to have a permanent scowl, Mr. White was had a laid back grin when he saw her. “Well, don’t you look like somethin’ I’d like to curl up with on a cold night.”

“Can it, White,” Henroin growled in a deep, raspy voice that betrayed a long life of smoking cigars. “Ya doan talk dat way t’ a lady.”

_ Thank you, Alastor.  _ Liz affixed a pleasant smile she reserved for potential benefactors for Swanhouse. “Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Henroin. This is a lovely restaurant.”

“The Ragnatela is modeled after my favorite restaurant when I was alive,” Henroin replied, a smile breaking across his glower face. “Ever been t’ Brooklyn, Ms. Carter.”

“My work takes me there from time to time.”

“Is The Little Italy there? On 9th Smithson Street?”

Liz searched her memory for a moment. “I may have eaten there a couple of times. It’s a good place, a bit expensive, but you get what you pay for there.”

“It was owned by my brother in law, Adrian. Good man, took good care of my sister and her kids,” Henroin recalled. “And he’s still cooking good food downstairs.”

“Ah,” Liz replied, not sure what to say to that. “I’ve brought pastries for you as a gift.” She didn’t bother trying to name them as she had forgotten and likely couldn’t pronounce them correctly anyway. 

“Well, aren’t you a sweetheart,” Henroin grinned. “If Anthony had brought girls like you home instead of dressing up like them, he wouldn’t be such a faggot.”

_ Arackniss didn’t ask Angel to wait outside to keep him from ticking off Henroin.  _ Liz realized as she passed the bag across the table. _ He did it to protect him from Henroin’s barbs. _

“Now we got the pleasantries out of the way,” Henroin declared. “Let’s get down t’ business about CandyLand. Ms. Carter, you can take off the hat. We already know you’re human.”

Liz’s jaw dropped, and she glared at Arackniss, who had taken the seat next to her. “You told him?”

“Kinda had to when you called this earlier,” Arackniss explained coolly, with no sign of shame which irritated her. “He hadda lotta questions and was gonna find out anyway.”

“Who else knows?” Liz felt her heart pounding, believing this had been a huge mistake after all.

“The only ones who knows are in this room, Ms. Carter,” Henroin groused. “And it’s gonna stay that way outta favor t’ you for helpin’ my boy outta a tight spot in that mill.” 

“And . . .and I have your word no one else will know?” At his narrowing eyes, she was making him mad by questioning him. After the many warnings from Angel Dust about not making Henroin angry, she knew this was a dangerous sign. She quickly adjusted her tone into a supplicating one, taking on the impression of a nervous woman who just needed reassurance from a strong man. “Hell has been very dangerous for me without anyone knowing I’m human and it terrifies me to think how it would be if word got out about me.”

“Completely understood, sweetheart, and I promise if word leaks out because one of my own couldn’t keep their mouth shut, I’ll deal with it personally,” Henroin said, giving a venomous glare at Mr. White, who held up all four of his hands to show he was harmless.

“Thank you. You have information about CandyLand?” With no other choice, she took off the veil and hat and set them on the table next to her. Her hands clasped together on the table with interest. “I don’t know much about it other than it employs young demons to make drugs.”

“Unfortunately, sugar, we don’t know that much more,” Mr. White replied, reaching into his coat and pulling out a packet. 

“Mr. White handles the Family’s drug trade,” Henroin explained as the white spider unfolded the packet into a map. “Business hasn’t been booming because of that place.”

“Because CandyLand can manufacture their own product and distribute it directly to sellers,” Mr. White said. “Our suppliers are brought up from the lower Circles, but it costs money to transport.”

Arackniss chimed in. “And CandyLand keeps undercutting any competition so we can’t compete or make any profit.”

Mr. White spread the map of a circular district, but the problem was most of it was blank. “This is what we know about the inner workings of CandyLand. It’s like one of those small isolated nations that are cut off from the outside world.”

“Jesse did say they weren’t allowed to have phones in CandyLand,” Liz said, leaning forward to peer at the map.

“Yeah, your friend Jesse,” Mr. White raised his eyes to hers, taking an intense interest. “We’ve been tryin’ t’ get an informant inside CandyLand for decades. You've been in Hell for barely a week and ya already got someone on the inside.”

“You want Jesse for information,” Liz said, realization dawning on her. “You want him to fill in these blanks, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we do,” Henroin said. “But what we want most is t’ bring down CandyLand.”

“And you think . . .you think Jesse can give you that?” 

“Not by himself, of course,” Henroin replied. “We just want him t’ open some doors and we’ll do the rest.”

Drawing a deep breath, Liz licked her lower lip, thinking carefully of how she wanted to word this. “I don’t want to do anything that would put Jesse in danger. The reason I came here is to learn how I can get him out of there.”

“Didn’t you say he can sneak out of CandyLand?” Mr. White said, arching a brow. 

“Yes, but he keeps going back because he’s worried about his friends.”

“Yeah, I’d be worried about them too,” Mr. White replied. “CandyLand sends out recruiters to find young demons who had just fallen to Hell. They’re promised protection and shelter as long as they work, but once they go in, they never come out.”

“Who’s in charge of Candyland?” Liz asked, wondering who would exploit children like this.

“Jack and Ripper,” Arackniss said casually as he smoked a cigarette with his hat on the table. 

At Liz’s horrified gasp, Mr. White quickly amended, “No, not the serial killer! Jack is the Overlord who runs CandyLand. Ripper is a hellborn demon who enforces his control over it.”

“I see, I don’t know if that’s any better or not.” Liz thought about what Jesse could be enduring. 

“If your friend helps us, I’ll put him under the Family’s protection,” Henroin promised. 

Looking between all three spiders, she asked, “What do you want from me?”

“I want to speak with Jesse,” Mr. White said. “If you would bring him here . . .”

“No,” Liz cut him off, shaking her head. “I’ll see if he’s interested in helping you, but I’m not going to force him to do something that could potentially harm him.”

Silence followed as all three spiders looked at her, taken aback by her potential refusal. Tapping a thick finger on the table, Henroin’s shaggy brows narrowed. “Of course, you’re a woman so you care about the kid. So I’ll tell ya what . . .Mr. White and Arackniss are gonna be close by in case the kid decides to talk. Where ya meetin’ him?”

She was already testing Henroin by denying him and he was barely letting it slide. A second time might put her in very hot water. “At the Happy Hotel, tomorrow evening. . .if he can make it.” 

“Alright, then tomorrow evening, Arackniss and Mr. White will be over t’ say hello.”

Her hands squeezed into fists on her knees. Henroin was trying to force matters without appearing to do so. Mr. White would be on hand due to his knowledge about CandyLand and Arackniss. .. well, he’ll be there to report for his father and maybe take action. In helping Jesse, had she brought more danger to him instead? If she refused, what would they do? Would they lie in wait for Jesse to show up and grab him? Force information out of him by brutal means? 

However, if Henroin is a man of his word and seems to take his word seriously, Jesse could be removed from Candyland and go into protection. 

It was a hard decision to make, but her hand was being forced. 

She raised her eyes and looked directly at Henroin. “My priority is Jesse and those other kids trapped in there. If helping them helps you out, then so be it, but if I think it’ll hurt them . . .then you know where I’m going to swing.” Taking a chance, she continued, “If we help you, then you have to help get him and his friends out of CandyLand in exchange.”

There was another long moment of silence as Henroin glowered at her. Then to Arackniss, he said,  _ “Questa signora ha delle palle.” _

The smaller spider shrugged. “ _ Ti ho detto che era testarda, ma mi fido della sua parola.”  _

_ “Mi fiderò della sua parola perché la terrai d'occhio.”  _ Henroin said hotly, then to Mr. White, he added. “ _ E anche tu. Fai quello che devi per rendere questo wordk a favore della Famiglia.” _

_ “Si, Capo,”  _ Mr. White replied, dipping his head reverently. 

Then finally, Henroin turned his attention to her and spoke in English. “Alright, Mother Goose, ya got yourself a deal.”

“Thank you, Mr. Henroin.” She felt her jaw unclench, and the tension between her shoulders loosen. 

“Arackniss, show the lady downstairs. Mr. White and I are going to discuss some things that don’t concern you or the lady.”

_ Which means you’re going to talk about Candyland and me.  _ With a polite nod, Liz rose and followed Arackniss out of the room. 

It was at the stairs that Arackniss glanced over his shoulder at her. “Ya did good. Pops was impressed by ya.”

“I thought he was getting mad at me.”

“He was, but the reason why yer still walkin’ and not gettin’ fitted for cement shoes means he likes ya.”

“Well, I guess it's better for my health if he likes me.” Liz wasn’t sure if she meant that as a joke or not. And she supposed it couldn’t hurt in the long run to have a Mafioso Don as an ally down here in Hell . . . that is if things didn’t go sideways with CandyLand. “Arackniss, is it alright if I ask you a question?”

“Ya just did,” He retorted. “But sure, go ahead.”

“Is there a reason why you and Ang - I mean Anthony, don’t hang out together?”

“He’s a faggot,” Arackniss said sharply, giving her a stern look as if it should be evident to her.

“And his being gay bothers you?” She said gently, pausing at the head of the stairs to put on her hat and veil.

“It bothers my Pops,” Arackniss replied, taking a quick glance over his shoulder at the hall as if Henroin could be standing behind them listening. 

“But does it bother . . .”

“Liz, sweetheart, lissen,” Arackniss looked sternly at him, his dark face furrowing into a frown. “I know whatcha tryin’ t’ do, but leave it alone. You’re generations ahead of Pops and most of these mooks around here. Maybe you understand some things better than any of us, but we only know what we’ve been taught in our time and as you can see, we’re livin’ in Hell as we did on Earth.”

Charlie’s words came back to Liz in a sudden memory.  _ My dad said what Sinners do on Earth can continue in Hell because Hell is other people. _

And Henroin was continuing the tradition of ostracizing a gay son in favor of the straight one. And back then, associating with someone who was known or even suspected of being queer could ruin a reputation, and to the mafia, reputation as everything. If Arackniss attempted to have a normal brotherly relationship with Angel, then Henroin and the Family may see him as becoming gay himself.

“Do I wish things were different, yeah, I do,” Arackniss continued in a somber voice. “But Anthony knew what he was doin’ when he decided t’ be gay and wear dresses when he was alive and dead.”

There were so many things she wanted to say. Being queer wasn’t a choice; it’s part of who Angel was. Her father was bisexual, and he didn’t decide that for himself but discovered it after he died. And she didn’t think any less of him for it. However, Liz understood she couldn’t overturn generations of ingrained homophobia or toxic mindsets with just words alone. 

“Anthony . . .Angel Dust is being himself.” And she left it at that.

  
  



	34. Arc 6: CandyLand - The Caretaker

Downstairs, Angel Dust had been sitting alone at the bar having a whiskey, and the bartender, another spider, was maintaining a safe distance by serving guests at the other end. Liz’s heart went out to him, and she hated herself for insisting he come with her. She should have had Charlie come with her instead or even Husk - he would have loved drinking it up while she was conducting affairs upstairs. 

Arackniss walked her part of the way through the dining area but then retreated to the bar without a glance at Angel. Liz touched one Angel’s lower arms in a camaraderie of affection.

He gave her a side glance. “Seeing as you’re in one peace, things go well?”

“Yeah, but let’s order some dinner to go and we’ll talk about it in the way.”

She wanted to get him far away from here somewhere he would feel safe. The problem was she had no idea where that could be. The Hotel was his home, but was it his safe place? 

_ I’ve failed him. Just like I failed Jesse.  _

She told him about Henroin and Mr. White’s desire to take down CandyLand to dominate the drug trade and their intense interest in getting whatever information Jesse could provide about CandyLand’s layout. He whistled when she recalled her firm warning about protecting Jesse and his friends, even at the Family's cost. 

“Holy shit. Ya hadda impressed Pops not t’ be swimmin’ with the fishies after that.” Pentagram City lights flowed over his face as the car passed the multitude of nightclubs and restaurants. “Good thing Smiles dressed ya like a lady of class and we got those pastries to butter him up.” 

“You think that helped?” Her heart was pounding as the aftershock of such a close call crept up on her. 

“Pops ain’t someone people say can say no to, not without it being the biggest mistake of their lives … or their last.”

“I didn’t exactly say no. I said my priority was the kid’s welfare.”

“Which ya got away with cuz Pops sees ya as being acting like a woman in her place in society by caring for the kiddies.” Angel Dust said with an eye roll. 

Liz wasn’t sure how she felt of Henroin’s misogynistic views being what left her in one piece. 

There was a slight pressure on her knee. Looking down, she saw Angel’s lower hand there, the thumb rubbing the side of the kneecap through the dress. “Angel?”

The hand slid up her leg, opening long fingers indenting the fabric to outline her thigh. “Ya wanna fuck?”

Later, Liz would be ashamed when she thought back to what she said now. “I don’t have any money.”

“I’m off the clock,” Angel replied in a clipped tone. Then in a low, husky voice, he said, “Just in the mood to fuck, is all.”

Her heart was racing, and it had nothing to do with what happened with Henroin. “Even if I’m a woman?”

“Hey, I’m horny, you’re here, we’ve done some stuff before so why not?”

This was unbelievable. Confused, she said, “Angel, where do you intend for us to do it? The Hotel?”

His upper set of shoulders shrugged as his hand roamed close to the apex of her thighs. “We could park somewhere and do it in the backseat.”

_ Is he doing this to prove something to his family? This is something we’ll have to discuss during …oh the bastard! _

Liz took his hand off her thigh by the wrist. “Angel, are you seducing me so you can claim I can’t be your therapist because we’re having sex!”

“....no….” Angel kept his eyes on the road avoiding her glare. 

The day after she was hired as Redemption Consultant, she had been open with Charlie about her sexual history with Angel before then. Charlie had brushed it off as it had been a business transaction, and as long as it wasn’t an actual relationship, she didn’t have a problem with it. Angel must have been listening in or figured it out on his own. 

An involuntary feeling of hurt sprang up. “Do you not want me as your therapist?”

“Doll face, it’s nothin’ personal, but I don’t need therapy.” Angel shrugged at her in apology.

_ You just can’t run circles around me like you can with Charlie or Vaggie,  _ Liz thought bitterly. “You have to participate in redemption activities to stay at the hotel.”

“Princess Softspot ain’t gonna toss me out,” Angel said firmly. “She’s too ‘nice’ to do that and she won’t let Vaggie do it either.”

When he said nice, Liz knew he meant foolish or naive. Maybe both. “Charlie cares about you. I care about you too. We both want you to be happy.”

“And I’m happy as a clam, babe,” Angel laughed. “Don’t see how talkin’ ‘bout problems gonna help anythin’.”

“So you admit you have problems?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. It’s for food and dicks only. Everyone has problems, especially down here. Don’t mean we want or need therapy.”

“Therapy is very beneficial for anyone. You don’t have to endure trauma to get therapy. People who are depressed, worried, or feel loss can receive help.”

“Not me. I ain’t any of those things.”

“Angel, are you scared?” Liz asked, thinking of Arackniss and Henroin. “Of what I will ask you now that I’ve met your father?” 

“Lizzie, sweetie.” Angel’s voice had a pitch to it that bordered between anger and panic. 

“Yes?”

“Leave it the fuck alone.”

“Alright. For now.”

***

Charlie had been waiting up for them and flew into a series of questions until Liz assured her she was alright, and she brought dinner with her they can share while she went over what she learned from Henroin and Mr. White.

“I knew CandyLand was cut off from the outside world, but I had no idea they were enslaving people!” Charlie looked aggrieved on behalf of the trapped. 

“And there’s no laws against this?”

“Not really,” Charlie sighed. “Not unless it is doing something to upset the power balances within Pentagram City than my father doesn’t care.”

“What I’m curious about is how they are keeping people in there? Is it through fear or force?”

If it was through force, then cages could be unlocked or chains broken. However, fear was a cage of the mind and was a much harder lock to pick. It was fear that silenced abused children, forced battered wives to stay with abusive husbands, and kept victims from pointing out their attackers.

However, this was Hell. There could be something else in play. Then Liz recalled what Charlie had asked Jesse about deals. 

“Charlie, earlier you asked Jesse if he made a deal? What does that mean?”

Charlie sagged in her seat tiredly. “Jack is most likely an Overlord demon.” At Liz’s confused look, she added, “Overlords are powerful demons lesser demons can make deals with for protection, wealth, or power. If the deal is to work for Jack for eternity, then we may be looking at a really big problem. Deals can only be broken if the Overlord agrees to release the soul or there’s a valid breach of contract on the Overlord’s part.”

“Such as?”

“If they don’t deliver on a promise, but the problem is the deal itself. Most of the time it's loosely worded to the point the Overlord can get away with anything or it’s really specific so as to be impossible to breach unless there’s extenuating circumstances.” 

“What enforces the contracts? There’s little to any laws as I’ve seen in Hell.”

“The Overlord’s own power enforces the contract.” Charlie pushed her plate away, no longer hungry and Razzle (or Dazzle) collected it along with her eating utensil and dirty napkin. “How are contracts enforced in the Living World?”

“Litigation or financial compensation,” Liz sighed. “So there’s really no other way of breaking a contract?”

“There’s my Dad,” Charlie said hopelessly. “Only he has the power to overturn a contract, but the last time he did that was 500 years ago and only because he disliked the Overlord and wanted the soul to work for him.”

“And I take it he won’t be interested in helping us?”

“No, not unless there’s something in it for him and he’s the King of Hell so he can have anything he wants.”

With no other decisions to be made or information to attain, Liz excused herself for bed. Marty was where she left him, unmoving but healed. His face was almost completely healed, save for the tender skin around his regrown eye. White streaks spread from the scarred tissue of the closed wound. The hair inside of his ears had turned white, as had a streak of his jet black hair. 

What was this? Was it a reaction to the holy weapon? Part of the healing process? She tried to talk to the other demons about it, but they all said the same thing: they had no idea what it meant, and that Marty shouldn’t be alive.

***

She decided to ask Shard to come over to the Hotel for support when Arackniss and Mr. White arrived to speak with Jesse. While she had Angel, Charlie, Vaggie, and possibly the Radio Demon on her side, another person backing her if things went south wouldn’t be a bad thing. And he had been texting her for updates of what’s going on.

**Liz** : Please come to the Happy Hotel. I may need your help.

**Shard** : When? 

**Liz** : Around noon.

**Shard** : I’ll be there.

That was oddly easy. She thought she would have to beg him to get him to come to the ‘embarrassing Happy Hotel’. And he did show up at noon, uncomfortable about being in the infamous Happy Hotel, but he came bearing the money. 

“Thanks for coming,” Liz greeted him in the lobby, a bit leery of seeing him again after their last encounter. 

“Yeah, uh . . .this place is . . .pretty big.” He eyed the bar and its occupants. Husk leaning boredly on the bar nursing from a vodka bottle, Alastor was waving with a glass of bourbon, and Angel Dust was giving him a hard look with a martini in hand. “Interesting people here.”

“They’re nice . . .Marty is upstairs . . .do you want to see him?”

“Yeah.”

It was a quiet emotional reunion. She stayed by the door, giving Shard some modicum of privacy as he bent over Marty, stroking his face and even laying a kiss on his cheek. A finger of guilt crawled over her as if she had been keeping Marty for herself, but she had invited Shard to come over earlier. 

“What did ya do to his hair?” Shard shot her a hard look as he pointed at the white streak.

“I didn’t do anything. It changed on its own.” Did he think she came up here with a hair coloring kit and gave him a white streak for fun? “His chest has white streaks too.”

“Damn, this is . . .and why the fuck is there a tube in his nose?” He began plucking at the feeding tube. 

“Wait, wait, don’t pull it out. It’s there for me to feed him.” She came forward to stop him, but he rounded on her before she drew too close.

“What?” 

She gave him a brief explanation of what she surmised from Alastor and how she had been giving Marty whisked eggs since their arrival in the Hotel. His eyes widened in horror as if she described systematic abuse instead of a medical procedure to ensure feeding a comatose patient.

“Holy shit, Marty ain’t gonna like this.” He held back a lot of what he wanted to say but kept it amicable as possible.

“It’s keeping him alive . . .”

Shard made a noncommittal noise, but his eyes softened when he looked down at Marty. “He’s gonna be happy to be outta here when he wakes up.”

“Well, about that . . .I signed him up for the Princess’s redemption program . . .”

Shard didn't hold back his reaction this time the least. His rounded ears laid back like an angry cat’s and his teeth flashed at her. “Why the fuck would you do that for!?”

“So he can go to Heaven,” Liz said, taken a bit aback before recalling demons’ general attitude towards the idea of redemption. “I don’t want him to stay in Hell . . .”

“And what’s wrong with Hell!? He had a good life until . . .” Shard’s eyes narrowed into pinpricks of anger and accusation. “ . . .a week ago.”

_ When I arrived. Shard still blames me. Was his apology a means to be close to Marty again? No, he apologized before I told him Marty was alive . . .right?  _

“Who the fuck are you,” Shard was advancing on her, using his full six feet height to loom over her. “To decide this for him? When he’s unconscious and already thinks this place is a joke?”

“I’m his daughter . . .” Liz crossed her arms, refusing to be intimidated, but her heart was racing recalling how he had assaulted her the night Marty had been stabbed. 

“So? You’ve only been in his life a handful of days, I’ve been there for him for decades and believe me when I tell you he would not want to be here!” 

“I want what’s best for him.”

“Bull fuckin’ shit!” Shard’s voice reached a crescendo of fury. “Marty had it good! He had a job, a car, an apartment in one of the safer districts, and he’s strong with a useful ability that makes guys like him invaluable to bosses like Tony Shark! He had it as good as most could hope to have it down here and you come along and fucked it all up!”

“You still blame me!? I didn’t . . .I didn’t want Marty to get hurt! He’s my dad! I love him!”

“You think I don’t love him!?” There was a painful pitch in his voice, and a glossy film over his eyes as his teeth gnashed. “I’ve been there for him since he fell down here! I was the one who showed him the ropes, got him a job with Tony Shark, helped him find a car and apartment, and . . . and we’ve . . .we’ve been together for 30 years. Where the fuck were you?”

“You’re acting like I’m some absent daughter who left him on his own . . .” Tears fell freely down her face, as she couldn’t hide the horrible guilt and loss she was experiencing now. “He died when I was little . . .I didn’t know him until a week ago . . .”

“So what gives you the fuckin’ right to decide this for him? To decide what’s best for him? To call everything he accomplished down here shit?” 

“I’m not doing that!” She had to push back somehow, against that sneer in his eyes. “You gave up on him! Remember? You were the one who said he was dead, but I’m the one who kept him alive!”

His eyes flashed with white-hot fury, and for a terrifying moment, she believed he was going to throw a punch at her. Instead, he seethed at her, every hair around his neck bushing out like a cat’s. “Saving his life doesn’t give you the right to decide he needs redemption!”

“Okay . . .you’re right, so when he wakes he can decide if he wants redemption or not.”

That seemed to douse their argument . . .for now. Liz wiped her eyes on a sleeve while Shard looked back at Marty with a sobering expression. “What did you want help with?”

“You still . . .you still to help me?”

“No, but Marty would want me to.”

“Oh . . .well, it’s a bit of a story . . .do you want to go downstairs for a drink while I tell you about it?”

Shard agreed to a drink and followed her from the room. Liz noticed Angel Dust casually standing in the hall smoking a cigarette with his back turned to them and, without a word, slipped into his room. At least someone had her back. 

Later, downstairs Shard was on his third glass of whiskey by the time she finished the story. He was attentive, but dispassionate until he nodded. “Ya want me to help keep the spiders away from the kid?”

“Yes, pretty much,” Liz replied. “But I don’t want things to get violent unless they make it so. I hope it doesn’t, though.”

“Denying the Family somethin’ they want turns violent every time.” Shard downed the glass of whiskey and thumped the glass down. “But why the hell not? Sure. I’ll stick around.”

He reached into his jacket and tossed her an envelope. She managed to catch it and opened it to see the money tucked within. “The money Tony Shard owed Marty. Try not to spend it all in one place.”

“Thank you,” Liz said civilly, though she regretted asking for his aid. 

***

**Shard** : The little bitch is getting herself involved with the goddamn Family. All over some punk kid from CandyLand!

**Izzy** : Why? She’s supposed to be hiding out from me. 

**Shard** : Because she’s a damn softhearted fool who wants to fix what isn’t broken. 

**Izzy** : Keep me updated. I want to know when she is alone and out in the open. The client is getting impatient. 

**Shard** : I don’t know if you’re ever going to get an opening. She’s always with someone. The Princess, the hooker, and the Radio Demon - that one looks at her as if she’s a hot glazed donut. 

**Izzy** : The client isn’t going to like it if I tell him the Radio Demon ate the human. 

**Shard** : No shit. 

***

Liz didn’t expect Jesse until late evening hours, so she spent that time taking care of Marty. After a feeding of more eggs, to which she added purée bacon for some added protein. She fetched a large bowl and filled it with warm soapy water to sponge bathe him. 

It had been days since the shower he took that last peaceful day they shared, and while he may not have been active enough to warrant cleaning, giving him one would be cathartic for her as it’s doing something for him. The argument she had with Shard still gripped her in a tight fist. 

How could she be blamed for wanting something better for Marty? Shouldn’t everyone want to go to Heaven? That’s what most people on Earth were concerned with throughout their lives. And how dare Shard disagree with her about Marty going to Heaven when he was the one that gave up on him in the first place! 

Sponge bathing Marty would be a point in her favor. Or it would have …

“I already bathed him.”

The bowl tipped and bobbed in her startled hands to the point where her front was drenched and the floor slick with a soapy film. Liz looked for the source of the voice and saw the small demon girl with vibrant red hair and a poodle skirt. A single bright eye peered brightly at her. 

Charlie had given her a brief description of Nifty in the off chance Liz caught a glimpse of the elusive custodian, so Liz knew whom she was looking at and not demanding identification. “Niffty? You bathed Marty?”

“Everyday! Twice!” The little demon seemed to hop in place with an energy that made it hard to train the eye on her. “Are you his wife? Or mother? You’re kinda young to be his mother though, but Sinners don’t age so maybe…”

“I’m his daughter.” Liz stepped carefully from the spilled waterl. “Thank you for cleaning him, but why didn’t you tell me?”  _ Or ask first? _

“I was supposed to? I think Charlie told me to do something before making sure the sleeping man didn’t make the sheets dirty. I was supposed to do something else. . .” 

While she spoke, Nifty dashed into the bathroom in a blur of red and yellow. By the time she finished speaking, she had already finished mopping up the spilled water with a towel and was wringing it out in the sink. No wonder Liz never had a glimpse of her before now. 

Then she stopped long enough to recall what it was she was supposed to tell Liz. “Your cat friend . . .the boy with all the yucky paint stains . . .he’s downstairs in the kitchen.”

“Oh God! I have to go!” Liz set the bowl on a table end and was dashing from the room. 

Worries swept through her mind as she thought about what condition Jesse might be in. Has his tail grown back? Had they done something else to him? Sweeping through the lobby and into the kitchen brought her a welcome sight of Jesse sitting with the Princess and inhaling donuts with a newly regrown tail bobbing slightly behind him.

When he saw her, he waved with a donut and said through a mouthful, “Hey, Liz! Your shirt’s wet.”

***

Earlier, she spoke with Charlie and Vaggie about how she met Jesse over lunch and tea. Liz had been working with social services when they got a call from Jesse’s teacher with concerns he and his sister were being abused. They had all the red flags of abuse which concerned the English teacher.

“When a kid gets hurt from an accident or fighting on the playground, they tend to show off their injuries like badges of honor,” Liz explained. “Boys will show off the blackeyes they get from fights, or if it's from an accident, they’ll use them to garner attention from their peers. However, kids who’ve been abused or traumatized will hide their injuries.”

Jesse had been going to school wearing long sleeve shirts and pants even during the hot summer months. In art class, his favorite and best subject, his drawers were violent scenes of death and self-harm. Liz went to the school for a counseling session with Jesse, who was defensive and sullen about his injuries and refused to say anything more than he fell into a fence at home.

“He was being used as a punching bag by his stepfather, a real waste of breath. Their mother was one of those women who were so desperate for a man, they put their children’s needs and safety second to the man’s happiness. And she would numb away her guilt by getting high and passing out drunk.”

It had taken almost a month of sessions to get Jesse to trust her enough to tell her what she needed to free him and his sister from that home. Once they were safely away from that house, Liz had charges of child abuse, endangerment, and neglect pressed against their stepfather and mother. Tim was sent to prison for ten years, and their mother signed away her parental rights to the twins to avoid prison. 

_ I told her she had a choice. She could go to prison, get rehabilitated into being a decent human being that didn’t allow a man to hurt her children, or she could sign away her rights, and walk away. I know the type of woman she was. Once her husband was away in prison, she’d find herself another man, possible a worse one looking for a desperate woman with kids . . . _

While his sister thrived in a positive environment, showing an interest in medicine at the young age of 15, Jesse was still angry and traumatized from the abuse.

“He was still scared. He never had a positive male role model in his life,” Liz sighed sadly, remembering the angry boy. “And then dear old mom brings Tim into their home and all the only fatherly figure he had was an angry white guy calling him racial slurs and punching him.”

When Jesse dropped out of school, she tried to get him to go back. She even made a silly bet, which ended with her getting a swan tattoo on her shoulder, but he still refused. And when he ran away from home, she found him involved with a gang of Korean youths who shunned their white names and sold drugs. 

“Being in a gang empowered Jesse. It made him feel safer to be around people he considered his own kind,” Liz sighed, wondering what she could have done to prevent it from going downhill. She had saved him from an abusive home only to see him being used by a gang of people who never had his best interest at heart. “I tried to tempt him away from the gang with a special art school. He seemed interested, but never took me up on my offer. Then one night, I got the phone call from the hospital. He had been shot in a drive by shooting and died upon arrival.”

Looking at him now, as he polished off a plate of sweets, she could still see the boy she knew in those feline features. Large golden eyes peered at her expectantly with such open trust and affection that it made it harder to talk with him what she feared he would find triggering. 

She began slowly, being open and honest with him. “Do you know about the Family?”

“Not really,” Jesse shrugged. 

“They’re like a 1930’s mafia with spiders. Angel Dust is related to them.”

“Oh, that’s cool!” Jesse’s tail wagged in pleasure

“The reason why I’m bringing them up is they want your help.” Her hands clasped together on the table, wondering if she was doing the right thing. “They want to know what happens inside CandyLand. More like, they would like to have a map of the place inside.”

Jesse was surprisingly undisturbed by this news. “Is that all?”

“Well, not really. They want to take over CandyLand’s drug business.”

This time, Jesse was disturbed. A tremor down his spine, which she could see from how his tail quivered at the thought. “Gee, Liz, that’s . . .that’s not possible. CandyLand is too heavily guarded and there’s Ripper . . .you just don’t know . . .”

“I’ll be there with you and any time you feel uncomfortable or want to stop or leave, I’ll make sure they leave you alone. Or if you don’t want to talk to them at all, that’s fine too. This is a safe place and . . .”

“Are you scared, Liz?” Jesse was peeking at her with his ears slightly laid back. “You sound scared.”

“A . . .a little, yeah, for you. And for me too.” She bit her lower lip, taking a chance, and going with it. “Jesse, I don’t want you to go back to CandyLand. I want you to stay here in the Hotel where you’ll be safe and maybe go to Heaven.”

Jesse blinked. “I heard about redemption outside of CandyLand, but everyone says it’s not real. That Princess is making it up.”

“She believes it's possible and I’m helping her as a Redemption Consultant.” 

Jesse’s eyes widened to large saucers. “ _ You _ think it’s possible to go to Heaven?” 

“I think it’s worth a try. Don’t you?”

Completely rocked by her reveal, he swung his legs back and forth on the chair as he thought about it. “Yeah, I think I do . . .Jang-mi will go to Heaven and I want to see her again.”

The thought of a loved one going to Heaven made her think of her mother. It was inconceivable for her mother to go anywhere but Heaven when she died. Most likely Grandma was down here somewhere for sure, but not her mother.  _ Not  _ her mother.

“Right. You want to see Jang-mi again, so why not give it a try?”

“But I can’t leave CandyLand,” Jesse almost sagged in his seat, his ears dipping low. 

Liz bit her lip, hating CandyLand more and more. “Jesse, did you make a deal with Jack?”

“Yeah, we all do if we want to stay there.”

_ Why would anyone want to stay there!? _

Then she thought about it for a moment. Hell was dangerous, and she learned that lesson well the night Marty was stabbed. Imagine being a teenager and walking alone on P.P. District by yourself? Or being a homeless teenager with none of the shelters, laws, or programs in place to keep them safe or get them off the street? On Earth, it had been bad enough for homeless kids with trafficking and gangs all wanting to take advantage of young minds and bodies. How would it be in Hell if they had no safe haven to turn to?

“Jesse, what if all your friends could come to the Hotel? Would you want them to come here?”

“I think so . . .I like Charlie, she’s nice, but they won’t come. They’re too scared. The only reason no one rats me out is because I bring them stuff from outside.”

“Like that?”

“Porn magazines someone throws out. Tasty food from behind restaurants. Bottles of booze, sometimes drugs.”

“But don’t you make drugs there?” 

“Yeah, but they count everything! If a dime bag goes missing, they strip search everyone!”

Grimacing at the thought, Liz reached over and took his hand. “Jesse, if it was possible to get your friends out of there . . .would they leave CandyLand?”

Jesse shook his head sadly. “I tell Greta the outside is better than CandyLand, but she’s too scared. I think something bad happened to her when she first got to Hell. Diego wants to leave, but his little brother, Mateo, is too weak to protect himself. CandyLand is bad, but at least they get meals and protection from the Angels.”

“If you told them about the hotel . . .?” She persisted, wishing she could speak with his friends herself. Maybe she had the right words and could give them the reassurances Jesse couldn’t.

“I . . .I’ll try to speak with them about it.” 

“Would you speak with Mr. White?”

“Do you want me to?” Jesse trusted her completely and would do as she asked. 

“Yes, I want you to . . .if working with the Family will get you and your friends out of there, then I want to work with them.”

“Alright, I’ll talk with him.”

***

Vaggie made coffee for them as it grew later in the night. Most of Mr. White’s map was filled in with notes and drawings as Jesse pointed out things and part of CandyLand. 

Imps were the main staff of CandyLand. They managed security and upkeep while the Sinner teenagers worked manufacturing and production lines. Jesse knew only of the layout of CandyLand in areas only he was allowed to go such as the packaging floor, the cramp dorms, and the cafeteria. However, he was able to give some insight into CandyLand operations.

“Over here is the garage,” Jesse pointed at a blank space along the side where Mr. White had notated as an entrance. “Sometimes I hear machine work and engines in there.”

“Know what kinda vehicles are in there?” Mr. White asked, scratching in the word garage in the blank space. 

After a thought, Jesse replied, “All I ever seen them use are vans for delivery and recruiting.”

That brought up a question for Liz, who was sitting next to him overseeing the exchange for any signs of Jesse becoming uncomfortable. “Jesse, how were you recruited?”

“Well, I was on my own for a week before they found me,” Jesse said, his ears dipping down, which she now recognized as a sign of discomfort for him. “An imp saw me digging through a dumpster for food when he offered to buy me a meal at a fastfood restaurant. I thought he was a nice guy . . .”

Liz drew a short breath and sighed. Classic predatorial tactic: bait them with a meal and befriend them so you could lure them into a life of crime or prostitution. She could almost read the script as Jesse recounted his recruitment.

“They said they had food and beds for workers. After they told me about the Exterminations, I thought it was a deal too good to turn down. I wish I had known better.”

“They failed to mention a few things,” Liz said knowingly of how predators bait and trap victims.

Jesse nodded. “Yeah, they didn’t say anything about all the rules.”

Mr. White tapped a finger across his mouth, eyeing Jesse carefully. “Can you get someone into CandyLand? The way you get in and out?”

“I could, but . . .you don’t understand how they are in there. They count EVERYTHING, people too. If the count is off by one, they go into lock down and look for the missing person or thing. I don’t know what they’ll do if there's a plus one.”

Mr. White held his hands together in a thoughtful manner. “Not if they sneak around . . .”

“No, Mr. White, there’s more security there than a prison,” Jesse explained, fidgeting with his tail. “There’s cameras, guards, and doors that can only be opened with keycards. And all the guards are imps. Unless you have an imp working for you or someone who is a teenager, then nope. Not gonna work.”

Mr. White glanced at Arackniss, who was sitting in a corner nursing a whiskey. “Arackniss, you up for playing a kiddie so we can get someone else on the inside?”

The smaller spider’s reaction was a single finger he waved in the white spider’s direction. “Fuck off, White. Make the human do it.”

Though Arackniss only meant it as a joke or a threat, however, Jesse’s eyes went wide as he stared at Liz. “Yeah! Liz can do it!”

All eyes went to Liz, who stared nonplussed at the young cat demon. “Jesse . . .I can’t . . .”

“I can vouch for you with the others! They’ll listen to you and can tell them about the Hotel!”

“Jesse, you know I would if I could, but I can’t . . .”

“Actually,” Mr. White directed all eight eyes at Liz in a scrutinizing fashion. “You’ve been passing yourself off as a demon since you’ve arrived in Hell and you have a clean look about you . . .like someone just dropped down here.”

“Now waitaminute . . .” Charlie who had been sitting quietly at Liz’s side, rose to her feet in outrage. “This is too much. Liz is human. If something happens to her, it’s permanent damage. She loses her arms then they stay gone for the rest of her short life.”

“They’re not going to cut off her arms,” Jesse pointed out, hopping onto his chair. “She’ll need them to package dimebags.”

“Oh lord,” Liz moaned, burying her face into both hands. “Jesse, baby, I just don’t know . . .”

“Please, Liz! I know the others will listen to you! Just like I listened to you before!”

_ But then you joined a gang and got shot and ended up in Hell! How did I help you? _

Charlie continued her argument with Mr. White. “She’s an adult woman! They only hire teenagers!”

“They’re imps. They’ve never seen a live human before. They won’t tell the difference.” Mr. White was almost leaning back in his chair with that nonchalant attitude and shrugged. 

“I . . .I’ve passed myself off as a teenage boy before . . .” Liz admitted, feeling a deep resignation filling her. 

All eyes went to her again. Charlie was looking at her in complete shock. “What? When?”

“A few years ago . . .it was due to . . .due to work . . .” 

“To Catch a Predator!” Jesse leaned towards Liz, almost colliding with her. “Ya know, they lure pedos online and they usually have a lady dressed up like a boy to catch ‘em in the act!”

Liz looked away, unable to meet his eyes, but then her arms uncrossed to draw him into a tight hug. “Alright . . .I’ll do it.”


	35. Arc 6: CandyLand - Dear Dad . . .

Liz wasn’t sure how long the letter would be as there was a lot she needed to say so she asked Charlie for a notebook and a pen. Liz collected her thoughts about what she wanted to write with a glass of wine next to her. She was working in the room, writing a letter to Marty who was still asleep only a few feet away. 

Well, it’s best to begin with the basics and an update.

_ Dear Dad, _

_ If you are reading this, then you have finally woken up, but I’m not there to tell you in person what I’m about to say in this letter. I hope I’m wasting my time writing this and I’ll be there to tell you in person when you wake up, but just in case, I’ll put this in writing.  _

_ Firstly, at the time of writing this letter, I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m safe. With help from Angel Dust and Jesse, a young man I knew when he was alive, we managed to get you to the Happy Hotel where Princess Charlie promised you may remain until you’re recovered. She also hired me as a Redemption Consultant as I know a few things about rehabilitation (I’m even Angel Dust’s therapist!). _

_ Since my arrival, I’ve helped the princess come up with new activities to aid in rehabilitating souls. Right now, it’s still just Angel Dust, but hopefully, soon, Charlie will have more guests. Especially you. I signed you up for redemption! I’m sure you’ll have a strong opinion about it later, and hopefully, I’ll be around to hear it.  _

_ I need to let you know a few things. The White Demon that attacked you is bounty hunter named Izzy. Someone out there knows I’m human and wants me for . . .some reason I don’t dare entertain, and hired Izzy to collect me. My secret must have been discovered while I was at Von Eldritch manor while I was brushing shoulders with the wealthy guests.  _

_ Thankfully, I.M.P hasn’t made any unwanted appearances, so likely they’ve given up or still in Imp City.  _

_ I take it that you’ve noticed I’m writing this as if I may not be around. Well, you’re not going to like this. Not at all. Jesse needs help. He’s trapped in this place called CandyLand, which I’m sure you’ve heard of. _

_ Long story short, I’m working with Arackniss and Angel Dust’s family . . .the Mafia group called the Family (I’m sure you’ve heard of them too). They’ve been trying to compete against CandyLand’s superior drug operations and they enlisted me to pass myself off as a teenage demon and infiltrate them. _

_ There have been supporters for this idea, namely Arackniss and his comrade Mr. White, but Princess Charlie, Angel Dust, and even Shard were against it. I heard all the arguments, mainly I’m a fragile human. Despite the fact that I’m going up against demons, the risks are no less than I’ve taken in the living world  _

_ How many times have I gone into a house where there may be drugs or gang bangers? Even before the night I came to Hell, I had a face-off with a Mr. Edgard, a brutal man who hates women and habitually puts his wife in the hospital. He came within inches of throwing a punch at me because I refused to allow him to see his wife. Being a coward, he didn’t dare hit me in the office in front of witnesses, but there had been other times I hadn’t been so lucky.  _

_ I once had my jaw broken by a violent foster kid. Yeah, my first year, and I was inexperienced in dealing with children with emotional trauma. The little shit walloped me in the face with a toy truck, and I lost almost twenty pounds from a liquid diet.  _

_ Mom never agreed to me going into social service. She was happy when I went into nursing school, but it didn’t feel right to me. Don’t get me wrong, I respect anyone and everyone in the medical field. However, the same people who come in and out of the hospital keep drinking themselves to near alcohol poisoning, getting beaten by a partner, or the elderly, children, or mentally handicap found lost and alone because their caretakers weren’t paying attention. We were only treating the symptoms and not the disease itself. I met a social worker who answered a call for suspected case of child abuse and gave me her card. A month later, I left nursing school behind to go into law and social service. And never regretted it.  _

_ Wow, I got far off topic so far . . .I guess I’m trying to make you understand why I have to do this. Not helping Jesse; that’s just not who I am. Evil succeeds if good men do nothing is a quote that has shaped my career.  _

_ Before you freak out (which I know you are by now), I’m not going in there alone. Jesse has a way out of CandyLand, and if things become too difficult or dangerous, he can get me out of there. Also, someone else will be there by my side the whole time. _

_ You know about the Radio Demon, Alastor? He had a solution to a problem we were having and saved me from having a humiliating predicament.  _

_ *** _

Jesse couldn’t stay any longer, having to return back to CandyLand before he was missing. He promised to return the following night to go over the plan. However, they had run into several snags. Mainly how was she going to communicate what she saw and experienced while she was within CandyLand?

“They don’t allow any electronics inside,” Jesse had explained. “If you have a phone or a tablet, they take it away as soon as you set foot inside.”

They came up with different means for Liz to smuggle in a phone or a walkie and the only way that could conceivably work was something Liz wasn’t very . . .receptive towards.

“I got some lube that’ll ease it right up there,” Angel Dust smirked at her. “We’ll get a small burner phone, the one with round edges so it’ll go in no trouble. Just hafta relax with some wine, maybe some music, and a massage.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” Liz pointed out.

“Hey! I’m tryin’ t’ help, doll.” Then Angel Dust got a very thoughtful look on his face. “Actually, since yer a girl, it doesn't hafta go up the backdoor.”

“Oh my god,” Liz moaned at the thought and looked to Charlie for help, but the princess’s face was bright red and had no comment about the situation. 

“I may have a more modest means,” a recognizable voice spoke up behind them. Alastor seemingly materialized between Liz and the princess and made a shoo-shoo motion at Angel. “Begone, you effeminate miscreant and take your foul mind with you.”

“Alright, I’ll go,” Angel Dust rose from where he was reclining against the bar. Giving Liz a nasty leer, he stated, “I’ll be gettin’ that lube warmed up.”

“Oh, shut up, Angel,” Liz groused. Maybe Alastor had a less humiliating solution, but doubtful as he had a severe dislike for modern technology. “Alastor, what is your idea?”

“It’s a simple solution, my dear. I attach my shadow to yours.”

There was a round of silence from around the lobby. That did not sound like a simple solution at all. Liz inclined her head, hesitant to question as Alastor was grinning at her expectantly. “What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I mean. In layman terms, I attach a small bit of my power to your shadow.”

“But Alastor, what about the wards?” Charlie asked, glancing between Liz and Alastor curiously. “And won’t the Overlord sense your presence?”

“It’s a minuscule piece of my power,” Alastor held up a hand with the thumb and index finger an inch apart, and he grinned at them between the fingertips. “He won’t notice it like a drop of oil in a thunderstorm.”

“What will it do exactly?” Liz was a bit pensive about having any part of Alastor attached to her in any shape or form. 

“It’ll allow me to speak to you from here,” Alastor explained, twirling his microphone cane before setting it on the floor and leaning on it as if he were to launch into a performance. 

Liz glanced at Charlie to see her reaction, and the princess was looking thoughtfully at Alastor. “Will it be able to protect her?’

“It could, but the shadow would have more power than possible to hide from the Overlord,” Alastor replied.

“Could anyone see this shadow?”

“Only Elisa as it would be attached to her.”

Charlie looked to Liz, folding her hands on the table. “It’s up to you, but it sounds better than . . .the other means.”

It certainly was more preferable than having contraband inserted into a body cavity. However, having something attached to her had the air of permanence. “Once this is done . . .can you remove the shadow from mine?”

“Of course! Just like you can put on or take off a hat.”

***

_ I’m not sure how much I can trust Alastor. Granted, he has helped me in the past and has done nothing to cause me to doubt his intentions, but every time he looks at me, I have this knee-jerk desire to run away. However, the idea of having even a small piece of him with me inside CandyLand makes me feel a bit safer. _

_ We’ve come up with a pretty solid plan. Tonight, I’m going to wear a black hoodie and jeans and walk the streets where they recruit new arrivals. I think the hard part is not coming across as eager to go to CandyLand, or they may suspect something. Once I’m inside, my first task is to meet with Jesse’s friends and see if I can turn them to our side, and hopefully, others. If it becomes too dangerous, I always have the option to cut and run with whoever wants to leave with us via the route Jesse has through the sewers.  _

_ I’m not going to say the plan is foolproof. Countless things can and will go wrong. I won’t lie either. I am a bit scared to do this. Since the night you were hurt, I’ve come to realize how dangerous Hell can be for a human . . . especially for someone like me.  _

_ I’ve fought with abusers, rapists, and exploiters in the courtroom, the system, and sometimes face to face. Now I’m where all those horrible people come to when they die. The evil I had stood against for most of my adult life, and even endured when I was a child, is here in Hell, all around us.  _

_ However, despite that, I have seen compassion, friendship, and even love down here. Charlie, the Princess of Hell of all people, truly cares for the sinners despite their jeers and ridicule. Angel Dust came to my aid and protected me when there was no benefit to him. Even Arackniss, who I know cares for his brother, has kept him away from the sharp barb of their father’s tongue. _

_ Most of all what has convinced me there is hope in Hell, is you. I see the love for me in your eyes, even from the moment we first met, back when we were strangers to each other. Meeting you has filled a hole in my life I never knew was there.  _

_ Just saying I love you doesn’t entirely cover what I feel for you and how much knowledge you have meant to me. I knew I had my mother’s looks, and got my dark hair from you, but now I know I inherited your spirit.  _

_ Love you with all my heart, your daughter,  _

_ Elizabeth ‘Lizzie’ Roberts Carter _

_ *** _

**Shard:** The bitch is infiltrating CandyLand.

**Izzy** : Are you going troppo?

**Shard** : I’m serious. She got it in her head she’s going to liberate a bunch of kids trapped there. 

**Izzy** : I thought she was smarter than that. 

**Shard** : Here’s the good news. She’s going to be walking the street alone to attract CandyLand recruiters. Jeans, black hoodie, and gray makeup. She’s going to pass herself off as a teenage boy.

**Izzy** : Has she gone troppo?

**Shard** : Yeah, and she’ll be alone. If you’re fast, you can grab her and take her away before they know what’s happening.

**Izzy** : When and where?

***

_ I must be out of my mind. _

Vaggie helped her dress and lather on the makeup powder, all the while lamented the craziness of this plan. 

“You’re not a demon. If something happens to you, it’s going to be permanent.” Vaggie inspected her face as she smeared the makeup across her forehead and nose. 

“I know.” 

“Or worse, if they learn you’re human . . .there are a lot of demons who will take advantage of that.”

“That’s what I’ve been told since I came down here.” Liz tried to keep her face pleasant, if not neutral. She didn’t want another reminder of how dangerous Hell was for her. 

“This whole thing is . . .is . . .crazy!” Vaggie smacked the jaw of powder on the table and crossed her arms. 

“So we should do nothing?” Liz’s voice didn’t carry any challenge nor anger, but sad resignation. 

Vaggie sighed, shaking her head. “No, it’s too late to change our minds now.”

It was easy enough to assure herself that the plan would work as Alastor’s shadow trailed behind her like a loyal serpent. Liz was expecting there to be some spell or magic involved when he attached the shadow. When she came down into the lobby where Arackniss and Mr. White were waiting to drop her off to enslavement, Alastor was leaning against the bar counter with his perpetual grin. 

“Alright, Alastor, I’m ready.”

“Ready for?” He gave her a polite, curious tilt of his head.

“For your shadow. Do I need to lie down? Or sit?”

“Oh, darling, I already attached that ages ago. Take a look behind you.”

Confused, she turned around and nearly leaped out of her skin. A tall silhouette of Alastor stood by her with blue eyes peering down at her, and their open mouth twisted up into a bright blue grin. The antlers were an exaggeration of Alastor’s deer horns to the branching width of an elk’s. And it moved of its own accord, tilting its head the same fashion as Alastors as it returned her gaze. 

She didn’t know if it was comforting or not to have it strolling behind her like a shadow. 

***

“Ya know, ya don’t hafta t’ do this, right?”

She was sitting in the backseat, trying to ease the pounding of her heart. It surprised her to hear this from him, and even Mr. White took his eyes off the road to glance at the smaller spider. She couldn’t see Arackniss’s eyes from where he was sitting in the front passenger seat, but had the feeling they were pensive and maybe even a little ashamed while his voice maintained its neutral monotone. 

“We can find another way.”

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I came this far and backed out at the last second,” Liz said to him and to herself.

“That’s the thing,” Arackniss replied. “You’re still alive. And ya gonna risk it for a buncha dead kids? Kids so bad God sent ‘em t’ Hell?”

“Jesse’s a good kid, though he did make some mistakes,” Liz said defensively.

“Musta been pretty big ones to land down here,” Arackniss muttered as a plume of smoke rose above the headrest. 

“It’s not his fault. He was peer pressured into joining a gang . . .”

“So was Anthony and me. We were born into it.” 

“Jesse never hurt anyone . . .”

“Sweetheart,” Arackniss’s voice was almost gentle or chiding, possibly both. “If he was part of a gang, then I guarantee you, he hurt someone. Ever heard of blood in, blood out?”

Cold, cold chills rattled her bones as she considered Arackniss’s words. “Yes. Gang initiation where you have to beat or kill someone to join and you can’t leave the gang unless you receive a beating or killed yourself. But I know Jesse. He made mistakes, a lot of mistakes, but does that mean he should end up in Hell and enslaved for eternity?”

“I dunno. Maybe someone wiser than me will know the answer to that.”

***

They dropped her off on an empty street corner. Arackniss leaned out the window, and she had this feeling they looked like johns picking up a runaway. 

“Alright, walk two blocks down and just . . .drift like a homeless bum, I guess,” Arackniss said with a shrug of his upper shoulders. “We’ll be parked here. Just make a circuit around the district a few times and see what tries to bite. Got the knife?”

It wasn’t the holy blade, but Liz felt better for having a folding knife in her pocket. Jam it in the right spot, and a demon will back off. “Yeah, I got it in my pocket. I better get going before someone sees us talking.”

“Good luck, Liz.”

It wasn’t like P.P. District. The streets were empty and almost lifeless save for the fly like rodents that glared at her if she strayed too close to their overflowing trash cans. However, she hadn’t forgotten where she was and was alert for any movement or sound that wasn’t generated by herself. After ten minutes of jumping at shadows, she began to calm down and think of Marty. She had tucked the several pages long letter into his hand, so it would be the first thing he noticed upon waking. Hopefully, she would be back long before he had to read it. 

_ And he would be right to be outraged by this. Even though I think this is crazy, I still didn’t take Arackniss up on his offer to back out. _

Jesse said to look for imps driving a white van with the CandyLand logo which was a black image resembling a circus tent. And if she saw them, she shouldn’t approach them unless they came to her. When that happened, her name was Leo, who just fell to Hell three days ago, scared and alone, and barely surviving on the streets.

_ This isn’t P.P. District. . .  _

While true, she had seen enough horrors of what could happen to kids living on the streets. Anything from rape, enslavement, to outright murder could happen to an unprotected child on the streets.

_ But I’m not a child. I know the signs predators employ to lure their victims into a false sense of security. I know not to follow anyone into an alley or accept an unopened drink or food from them. I’m going to be fine . . .just fine. _

The street was eerily empty as this was a residential part of Pentagram City. No open shops or 24-hour bars or clubs here. Occasionally, she spotted a streetwalker, but since she played the part of a penniless urchin so well, they left her alone. One even hissed at her to take a hike with a slashing motion of a claw. 

_ Might as well start playing the part.  _

She peered into a garbage can and instantly decided she would not be going through the trash after all. Atop of the refuse was a condom, so recently used, it was still slick with fluid. The hookers must have had some business tonight.

Grimacing, Liz hurried away, mindful of where she stepped. She had seen more than one discarded needle on the street since her arrival in Hell. How much longer before the imps took an interest in her? Or if she came across any?

_ Dammit. We assumed they would recruit me tonight, but this might take longer than we thought. They may have enough workers and not recruiting or merely taking the night off. This could be a waste of time. _

As much as she would hate to have their efforts wasted, it did give her a little comfort that she could be returning to the safety of the Hotel within a few hours. Maybe they could think up another plan in the meantime. 

“Sheila . . .”

A fist connected with her jaw. The ground came up to meet her, jarring her bones and knocking the air from her lungs. Before she could relearn how to breathe, she was hauled up by the back of the hoodie. She saw Izzy glaring at her for one millisecond before he backhanded her across the face. Blood burst across her tongue as she moaned, and wondered if this was how a broken jaw felt like. 

“The first one was the beating I took for your little trick,” he groused at her, pinning her face down on the pavement. “And the second was for leading me on a merry chase across the city.”

“F-fuck you,” she moaned. Her head was still swimming from the blow, and when she could think straight, she realized both of her hands were handcuffed behind her back. She was lifted onto her feet and stumbled as he towed her along. “Let go of me, you fucking bastard!”

“Shove it,” he hissed at her, squeezing her arm hard enough to leave bruises. “I’ve had enough of you and this job.”

“Then just let me go,” Liz retorted. “And leave me the hell alone.”

“Oh no, Lizzie, this hunt is over.” 

_ Why the hell didn’t I think about him when I decided to traipse about by myself? Am I that desperate to help Jesse, or am I just that self-destructive? _

There was a car parked and waiting at the end of the street. It was waiting to take her to some unknown fate with Izzy’s client. Even if Alastor’s shadow reported what was happening, then it would be too late for the others to come. 

A sudden spark of will overthrew the grip terror had on her, and she fought back with all her might. She twisted in his grip, and this got her another slap across the face. The sting in her face only fueled her defiance. She kicked him in the shin, and he shoved her against the wall, hand against her throat.

“You better stop fighting this,” Izzy’s single eye flared into hers, the X burning with white-hot fire. “This was inevitable the moment you came to Hell.”

“Who is your client?” Liz demanded, gritting bloodied teeth at him. “Who the fuck is he?”

“Oh, you’re gonna meet him very soon, Lizzie.” His hand squeezed her throat almost to the point of choking her. “He’s been very eager to meet you . . .”

She spat in his eye. He jerked away, releasing his grip on her throat. Not taking a second to catch her breath, she ran a few feet before he caught the hoodie and yanked her backward so hard, she was thrown off her feet. He threw her onto the pavement and straddled her waist, pushing down her kicking legs. 

“Alright, we do this the hard way.” 

He shoved a hand across her mouth and pinched her nose between his thumb and side of his forefinger. Her eyes went wide as both of her mouth and nose were blocked from getting any air. She twisted her head from side to side, but the grasp on her face was too strong.

“Just relax, sweetheart,” Izzy crooned, teeth revealed in a slasher’s smile. “Go to sleep and you’ll meet the client when you wake up.”

_ Oh god, he’s going to force me to pass out from asphyxiation.  _

Her heels dug into the ground, trying to throw him off, her head twisting back and forth, struggling for breath. Lungs burned, and eyes watered until tears rolled down her face. Was this it? Was this how her life of freedom ended? 

_ Dad, I need you . . .Dad, I want to see you one more time . . . _

There was a screech of tires and shouting. Izzy looking up, sneering at something. His mouth moved, but his voice was a distant echo. Then he looked down at her and removed his hand from her mouth. She gulped air as if it were water. Her chest heaved and hitched as she struggled to get as much oxygen into her body as possible. Then she heard Izzy’s voice, low and menacing.

“This ain’t over, Lizzie.”

Then he was gone. Her vision swam back into focus. Sitting up was dizzying, so she remained prone until her vertigo faded. An imp appeared above her. Her heart stopped, thinking it was one of the I.M.P, but he was different from those who attacked her. Horns curled away from his face and affable eyes. 

“You okay, sport?” 

“Y-yeah . . .” It took her a moment to remember she was passing as a teenage boy.

“Can ya stand?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Let’s find out.”

No, she wasn’t ready to stand on her own. The imp helped her from falling flat on her face, taking notice of the cuffs bruising her wrists. “Well, shit, kid. Good thing we came along, huh?”

There was a white van with the CandyLand logo stenciled on the side. The back was open, and another imp was standing near the open doors smoking a cigarette and waited with a bored expression. A third was one watching from the driver’s seat checking a gun, which may have been what persuaded Izzy to retreat without her. 

Maybe handcuffs were all the same with one key fits all as her savior easily uncuffed her. Which begs the question of why he went around with a key for handcuffs anyway. She didn’t really want to put much thought into it.

“You got somewhere somewhere safe to sleep tonight, sport?” The imp was patting her shoulder, but she noticed his hand was positioned in such a way that if she tried to run, he could easily grab her. 

“N-no . . .” Her head, mainly her face, hurt, but she was able to focus now. It may not have been Izzy’s intention, but he had clearly given her a way in with CandyLand. 

“Alright, lissen, perverts like that are a dime a dozen around here. Ya best come with us. We can get ya somewhere safe.” 


	36. Arc 6: CandyLand - Welcome to CandyLand

“What’s your name, sport?”

Vans were meant for moving large supplies and items from place to place, but it was also the chosen transport for kidnappers and traffickers. It was easy to drag someone into a van with plenty of room for more than one victim and enough kidnappers to overpower them. No windows for the victim to signal for help or viewpoint for potential witnesses. 

She was sitting on the floor as the van rattled along the road. Her face was sore and would likely swell from the bruises, but between them and the gray makeup, it should aid in disguising her as a demon. 

“L-Leo . . .”

“Hi, Leo, my name is Zimmerman, but people in CandyLand call me Zip the Imp.” Her rescuer was sitting across from her, lighting up a rolled-up cigarette. “How long have ya been in Hell?”

“A . . .a few days . . .”

“Musta been tough to drop down here at your age,” Zip said amiably. “You alone? Made any friends since you were here?”

_ Trying to see if anyone would miss me? Or come looking for me? _

“No, just me,” She said, drawing her arms around her knees. Might as well make it easy for him. “Does CandyLand have anything to eat?’

“Ya hungry, Leo?”

“A little . . .”

The other two imps pretty much ignored her. The driver was listening to music while the second imp rode up front in the passenger seat and let Zip do all the talking. They were there as muscle and security while Zip with his pleasant face and nice mannerisms served as the recruiter.

“Well, Leo, we can get you somethin’ to eat, but our supplies are for workers only.”

_ Alright. Here comes the pitch. _

Her hands tightening on her knees as Zip puffed on the cigarette a few times, eyeing her through the smoke. “We have openings for strong lads like you. It’s free room and board with meals included.”

“N-no one will try to hurt me there?” It wasn’t hard to come across as scared and weak as she felt those things.

“Of course not,” Zip grinned, bearing sharp teeth. “Follow the rules and nobody’ll hurt ya.”

***

She could see CandyLand itself through the front window. It lay in the middle of a deconstructed district with scattered buildings had been torn down and cannibalized for the construction of Candyland. It reminded her of a post-apocalyptic urban landscape, especially CandyLand itself, which looked like a cross between a big top circus and a thunderdome. 

It was arches of steel frames and metal panels soldered together. Large searchlights topped the tips of the arches, and large rays of bright light passed across the ruined buildings. As the van drove closer, she saw no windows, doors, or any openings of any sort. 

As Liz wondered how they were going to get inside, the driver took a walkie talkie from the dashboard and growled into it. “Van1204 comin’ home with a plus one, over.”

“Roger, over.” A voice replied from the other end.

Noticing her staring, Zip said with a reassuring smile. “Hell’s a pretty dangerous place and the Overlord Jack has some tough rivals, but we keep everything secure and safe for our employees.”

_ More like keep them inside . . . and everyone else outside. _

The van came to a slow stop about twenty meters from the building. Instead of a garage door opening, the ground lifted up before the van revealing a long ramp that descended downward. Jesse had not mentioned anything about the facility being partially underground, but then he may not have known. They could have taken him inside CandyLand through different means. It did make sense that Jesse’s escape route was through the sewers. She hoped she could find him in this large facility. He was her only way out of here, after all.

The van’s headlights lit the way as it descended down, down, and further down. It felt like miles but could be as far as a football field. Then they came to an open garage where about a dozen vans were parked, all white with the CandyLand logo on the side. Zip opened the van and hopped out, and motioned for Liz to follow him. 

It was surprisingly cold, but then they were deep underground in Hell. She was glad for the hoodie and shoved her hands into the pockets for added warmth. The imps didn’t seem too bothered by the cold as they were wearing coveralls with thick belts with gun holsters. She didn’t see them as staff but as prison guards returning from a patrol.

Zip invited her along with him to what he called processing, but he did so with a hand on her arm. She could read the unspoken cues - either go along with him, or he could help her along. So she went with him, her heart pounding and mouth dry. What did processing entail? Jesse hadn’t mentioned that? Or was it something new after he was recruited? 

God . . .what the hell was she going to do if it required a strip search? Like they do with newly incarcerated inmates in prison.

“Hey, hey, don’t be scared. It’s just part of the hiring process.” Zip made some chirruping noises that she assumed an imp would use to soothe a distressed animal. “Once we’re done, I’ll take you to your new room, okay?”

“O-okay,” 

Zip unhooked a radio from his belt and spoke into it. “Hey, Zero, got a new one for ya.”

A rough voice crackled over the radio. “Sure, bring ‘em over. Did you get those magazines I asked for?”

“Yeah, straight up from the Lust Ring.”

“Good.”

After clipping the radio back to his belt, Zip gave her a shrug. “Zero is our Demon Resource guy. He handles scheduling and assigns jobs positions for employees within CandyLand.”

“What kind of jobs?” Now that she was inside CandyLand, she needed to start the process of information gathering. Most of what Zip may tell her Jesse had already shared, but he may have forgotten something, or Zip may let something slip.

“There’s farming, production, packaging, and transport,” Zip explained. “Most likely you’ll be put in production and packaging. No offense, but you’re kinda on the small side.”

She almost said, ‘it’s alright,’ but stopped herself. A teenage boy would usually be offended or feel he had to do something to prove he was tough. She made a noncommittal grunt and shrugged her shoulders hard enough to dislodge his grip. “I can handle it.”

“Sure, sport, whatever you say.”

Zip led her into an office where a large imp was occupying the entire space behind a wide desk. While the imps she had seen were thin and tall, this one was short and quite round with his bulk pressed against the desk as there was very little room for his girth between it and the wall behind him. Little goat horns poked up through his thin combover, and he regarded her through small piercing eyes. 

It was pleasure first apparently as Zip reached into his coveralls and drew out several pornographic magazines with female imps posing in lewd positions in different states of undress. They were received with an appreciating whistle as the large imp gave each cover a glance and tucked them away into a desk drawer before he turn his attention to Liz. 

“Where’d you find this scrap of meat? The Farm has been ridin’ my ass about getting some strong meat up there.”

“Sorry, Zero, but it was slim pickings out there.” 

A worry sprung up of her being dismissed due to her small stature. What would happen to her if that happened? Would they show her the exit, or had she seen too much to be let go?

“Fuck it. I’ll just move one of the stronger ones from production to the Farm.” Zero grabbed a form from a basket on his desk. “What’s this one called?”

“Leo,” Zip answered before Liz had a chance to answer. “Male. Weighs about 120 pounds. Gray skin, blue eyes, and dark hair.”

Liz could only nod with slight bobs of her head. He wasn’t saying anything she wouldn't say, but it was annoying this was being handled without her input. And it must be a regular procedure as Zero barely glanced in her direction as he jotted down her information on a form he tucked into a folder. He swiveled in his chair towards an old computer with a large tube screen monitor and pecked away at the thick keys.

“Remember this number, meat,” Zero said. “Your number is 24601. If you hear your number being called, that’s you. Forget it at your own peril.”

That should be easy enough, she thought, as it was the same number the suffering Jean Valjean, the protagonist of  _ Les Miserables, _ received as his prison number. She remembered taking her mother to a show on Broadway for her birthday and even got her the musical soundtrack for Christma sd Mom enjoyed musicals. Now that life seemed like a dream under the brunt of being brought into a sweatshop to produce drugs for demons in Hell. 

“You start work in the morning. Packaging is a simple job to start ya off with. Just do what everyone else is doin’.” He said this last bit with a skeptical look. “The Boss over there is Drix; he’s a hard ass, but he’ll treat ya fair as long as there’s no fuck ups. And while I know he’ll warn ya tomorrow, I’ll double up on it by telling’ ya now to not sample any of the product nor steal so much as a pinch of it.”

Hard amber eyes hardened into stone as he stared at her, making her feel like a transfer student with a problematic background that’s been dumped in the headmaster’s lap. If she was herself, she’d respond with ‘I understand’ or ‘yes sir,’ but that might be too much like a woman in her 30s. How would a teen boy respond to a mute accusation like this?

“I’m not a thief,” Liz, as Leo replied sullenly. 

“Right,” Zero replied, with stronger skepticism. “Empty your pockets.”

It was expected, but still a loss when Zero confiscated the knife. Damn, if only she could have used it when Izzy attacked her. It would have been nice to see how he liked being stabbed in the heart. Zero squirreled it away into a drawer and seemed disappointed in how she wasn’t putting up a fight to keep the knife. 

“Alright, Zip, take ‘im to room 377, there’s a vacancy now and read ‘em the riot act.” 

A vacancy now? What the hell did that mean?

Zip gave Zero a nod and led her out of the office and to an elevator. It was like being in an underground bunker or one of those facilities built to withstand nuclear bombing back in the Cold War with the metal and concrete walls and floor. She kept expecting to see war propaganda posters on the walls or a soldier in fatigues stroll around a corner. It was far from the colorful imagery the name CandyLand provoked. 

“Just gonna go over the rules real quick,” Zip said as the elevator doors opened. He stepped inside with a hand on Liz’s shoulder in a comradely fashion. “Most of its common sense shit. No fighting. Be on time for work duties. No stealing. No talking while working. And just do as you’re told and there’ll be no problems.”

“What about food?” Liz asked, recalling she was supposed to be a hungry, homeless kid. “You said you had something to eat here.”

“Oh, that’s right. Sure. We’ll swing by and get ya somethin’,” Zip pressed a button on a panel, and the elevator went down. How far down did this place go?

“How big is this place?” She felt it was a safe question to ask. 

“Pretty damn big, but there’s plenty of room for everyone.”

She also noticed the elevator didn’t have a display to indicate which floor they’re on. And the panel of buttons were also free of numbers. She realized it was to make infiltration difficult...and escape impossible. 

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the movement within her shadow slanting across the floor and wall. It was so quick and easily missed if she hadn’t been looking when it happened. A blue-eyed face appeared, winked at her, then disappeared. It would have been useful if Alastor’s shadow had done something to help her against Izzy, but at least by now, the others would know she was inside CandyLand. 

The cafeteria was rows of tables and benches, which she associated as an orphanage from a Charles Dickens novel. There were a couple of demons cleaning up, and their resemblance was uncanny. They both were canine with dark hairless skin and large triangular ears atop their heads. However, one was smaller than the other, wearing a simple blue shirt and jeans, while the taller one wore a denim jacket over a white shirt. 

When they came inside, the tall one stopped mopping the floor to glare while the small one paused in wiping the table to hurry behind the larger. Liz decided they had to be brothers as they looked so much alike. The older had a sharp muzzle while the younger had a softer face and large eyes like a puppy. He peered at them with a look akin to worry. 

The cafeteria's warmth disappeared to be replaced with a coldness that spread between Zip and the older demon whose dark eyes narrowed only slightly, but Liz could see the smoldering anger and icy fear in them. 

“Hey, Mateo, go fetch somethin’ for us to eat,” Zip ordered in a friendly manner, but his eyes were hard pieces of flint in his red face and his mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. “Is that okay, Diego?”

Liz’s heart lifted, recognizing the names as Jesse’s friends’. However, her joy was dampened as the unspoken challenge hung heavy in the air between the imp and demon. There was a history behind this tension with the promise of it coming to a head right here and now. 

The smaller one, who had to be Mateo, looked up at his brother, eyes large and concerned. Diego held Zip’s gaze for a second and nodded, “Do as he says, pup _.” _

Like a mouse fleeing a cat, Mateo darted into the back where sounds of dishes and utensils rattling could be heard. Though the tension has thawed, there was still a stiff chill in the air between Zip and Diego. What the hell had happened between these two?

“Who’s this?” Diego muttered, taking notice of Liz for the first time.

“He’s your new friend, Leo,” Zip said in a snide tone. “He’s the reason why little Mateo don’t hafta go down to packaging.”

Diego’s expression remained impassive, save for one of his ears twitching. “Mateo is fine where he is.”

“Sure, sure, as long as Hanson is happy, Jack’s happy, and so is everyone else.”

The little demon came out carrying two large bowls, both steaming hot, on a tray almost too big for him to manage. He walked with slow definite steps, and Liz was tempted to hurry over to help him. Diego’s fingers squeezed the mop, and she knew he wanted to help too, but doing so would prove something to Zip, so he remained still, helplessly watching his brother struggle.

Screw it. She walked forward and took one of the bowls off the tray, making it easier for Mateo to manage. She began eating before she sat down, in a show of being too hungry to wait much longer. Mateo set the second bowl across from her and tucked the tray under a thin arm. Being as he was no longer human, it should be hard to determine his age, but he couldn’t be any older than thirteen!

She offered him a shy smile, and he mutely stared at her. Could he speak? Was that why Diego was so protective of him? 

Mateo glanced at his brother and Zip, who had resumed staring each other down. Diego held the mop tight as if he wanted to bring it down on Zip’s head while the imp was daring him to try it with a smirk. Then, in a move that surprised Liz, Mateo leaned forward and whispered. “Watch your ass.”

Liz looked up, not certain she heard correctly. What had she done to deserve that?

Mateo returned to hiding behind Diego while peering at her and Zip from behind him. His eyes were large and furtive like a nervous horse. 

Zip was done with them. “You’re done for the night. Get the fuck outta here.”

Diego was more than happy to leave. Taking Mateo by the arm, they both hurried from the room cafeteria with only a quick glance at Liz in passing. With Diego gone, Zip returned to his laid back attitude and friendly grin. 

“Sorry ya had to see that. Gotta be tough with the troublemakers.”

“What kind of trouble have they been in?” She asked, genuinely curious.

The food tasted like oatmeal in need of sugar or honey. It was bland but filling. She had eaten a hefty early dinner in the fears of not having much to eat in CandyLand, so she stocked up on calories before going out. Being attacked and almost suffocated by Izzy must have burned away those calories as she now had a bit of an appetite.

“Diego has an attitude problem as you’ve seen. And his little brother hasn’t fallen too far from the tree . . .is that how you mortal souls put it? Anyway, don’t worry ‘bout ‘em. They give you trouble, you come to me.”

“Is there anyone else I should look out for?” She asked casually, wondering if he would bring up Jesse’s name or even name drop Greta. 

“Just the usual. You being new, the others may try to give ya a hard time or take advantage of ya. Just do as you’re told and you’ll be fine.”

She had been looking down, eating, playing the part of the hungry street teen, until she felt a sudden shudder roll through her as something touched her hand. Raising her eyes, she noticed Zip was looking intensely at her, and the touch was his claw tips brushing the tips of her fingers. Startled, she drew back as her heart went to her throat.

“Hey, hey, no need to be scared of me. I’m just being friendly.”

_ Watch your ass. _

Mateo’s words hadn’t been a threat - but a warning.

_ Oh my god . . .what the hell is wrong with me!? All the cues were there, and this slick sonuvbitch tricked me into missing them. He wasn’t touching to reassure me or lead me around, but to . . .oh god! He thinks I’m a teenage boy!  _

_ Been watching you, cutie.  _

_ Is this why Diego hates him? Has he tried this with him? Or Mateo!? Oh god, he wants to do it to me!  _

_ Been watching you, cutie. _

“Are you . . . are you alright? You look . . .”

Her food was coming up. No, keep it down . . .don’t throw up . . .

“Leo . . . Leo, are you about to . . .”

_ Been watching you, cutie. _

“I’m . . .I’m okay . . .”

She could smell the sharp stench of cheap perfume, the odor of sex, and the cigarette smell on the clothes of the demon who tried to force her into a sex hotel. God, she could almost feel the edge of a knife against her ribs and his voice grinding in her ears. 

_ I'll be sure to pay ya extra. C'mon. _

She was up and rushing to a trash bin in the corner of the cafeteria. What little she ate expelled up, burning her throat and made her eyes water. When no more came up, she dry heaved several times and gasped for air. After spitting up the taste of vomit, she patted her mouth on a sleeve so as not to smear the makeup off. 

“Still feeling sick from the drop?” Zip asked when she straightened. He was eyeing her skeptically with an air that perhaps he brought in a sickly worker, or he was uncertain if he was interested in ‘Leo’ or not. 

“A little . . .”

“Give it a few days and you’ll be fine. Wanna try to eat some more or you need sleep?”

“Sleep.”

“Alright, follow me.”

***

She couldn’t believe how tiny the room was. It was little more than a closet with barely room for a bed. Zip leaned against the door with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, watching her reaction. “I know it’s small, but hey, better than sleepin’ on the street, Imma right?”

“At least I have a mattress,” she admitted.

“That’s the spirit,” Zip pushed off from the jamb and regarded her with a slight sternness. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, cuz, I was afraid you mighta misunderstood somethin’ earlier . . .”

_ Oh, I understand perfectly, you sick fuck.  _ Outloud, she said, “Misunderstand what?”

Amber eyes searched her face, and he nodded, satisfied. “Nothin’. Morning meal is at 6:00 and work begins at 6:30. Following everyone to the Packaging Lines and Drix will show you the ropes. Night.”

The door closed, and for the first time that night, she was able to relax. She flopped onto the bed, sighing almost serenely as she had accomplished infiltration, but then came the hard part. Where was Jesse?

And that problem resolved itself when there was a light knock on the door. “Liz?”

“Oh thank God,” she moaned, so happy to hear a familiar voice. She threw open the door, and Jesse stepped into her desperate embrace. 

They hugged each other tightly for several moments before Jesse began speaking. “We don’t have much time. A guard walks the halls to make sure everyone is in their room. Are you okay? I saw you following Zip . . .ya gotta watch out for him . . .”

“I know . . .Mateo tried to warn me . . .”

They sat down on the bed together as Liz recounted Zip recruiting her, but left out the encounter with Izzy as that wasn’t important and he would blame himself. “What is going on between Diego and Zip?”

“Diego is afraid of being separated from Mateo. They both work in the greenhouses, but Hanson don’t want Mateo there because he’s too small for the heavy work they do. Zip keeps threatening to separate them so Diego has to eat shit whenever he’s around so they don’t take Mateo away.”

_ He’s your new friend, Leo. He’s the reason why little Mateo don't hafta go down to packaging. _

“Can Zip do that?”

“Well, he is part of the disciplinary committee and a recruiter, so his word has some say with the bosses,” Jesse nodded, his eyes large with fear. “And you have to watch yourself around him. He’s a nice guy when he wants to be, but . . .he can be a mean bastard when he’s mad.”

Then a shudder went through Jesse as the fur rose around his neck and shoulders. “But Asher is worse.”

“Who’s Asher?” She remembered that name as the one who cut off Jesse’s tail.

“He’s Sinner like us, but Jack likes him so he put him in charge of the disciplinary committee. He punishes kids who break the rules. He looks like a high school jock fucked a bear and had him. He’s the one you gotta watch out for! And Annie . . .She’s a Sinner too . . .she’s one of his lackeys and goes along with whatever Asher wants to do.”

Liz leaned against the wall, thinking carefully. “Tomorrow, I’m going to work in packaging.”

“Good! I work there too.”

“What do they do there?”

“They bring the drugs from production and we package them into bags and boxes for shipping. It’s pretty easy, but Drix breathes down our necks to make sure we meet quotas and not steal any product.”

“Alright . . .Jesse, is it possible for me to speak with your friends tomorrow?”

“Maybe. I’ll send word along to Diego and Mateo. Greta works in production, but I’ll tell her about it on the way to my room.”

“Good. Now hurry back to your room before you get caught.”

Liz thought she would have a hard time going to sleep, but she was out like a light as soon as her head touched the mattress. A shadow moved across the floor like a fish through water, and bright blue eyes floated over her, watching her sleep. 

  
  
  



	37. Arc 6: CandyLand - Fizzarolli

While falling asleep was the easy part, staying asleep was another matter. Liz would often wake up and have a brief moment of panic when she didn’t recognize the room. She’d wonder where she was until it came crashing down. 

She was inside CandyLand, pretending to be a teenage boy in a drug-making factory - in Hell. 

The blue eyes of Alastor’s shadow peered at her from a dark corner of the room. She tried speaking to it in a low whisper - if there are so many rooms in the hall, then the walls must be paper-thin. Never speaking back, its blue eyes smiling at her with a visceral hunger like a hungry dog seeing fresh meat dropped into its food bowl. 

“Alastor?” She tried again. Without a watch or any means of telling time, she could only guess she had been awake for an hour. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes, darling?”

She nearly shrieked in fright at the sudden response. Alastor’s voice came from the shadow’s blue mouth, which molded to form the words. “Alastor! I’ve been trying to talk to you for the last hour.”

“Forgive me, my darling, but it wasn’t safe to talk. Your neighbors weren’t asleep until now.”

It was as she suspected. The walls were thin enough for any conversation to be heard. Was her conversation with Jesse overheard earlier? Did they say anything condemning? And how did he know?

“How . . .?” 

“I can hear them through the walls. One was reading and the other was . . .getting acquainted with himself . . .”

“It’s safe to talk?” She said quickly, not wanting to know anymore. 

“Yes. I will let you know when it’s unsafe to speak.”

“What time is it?” 

“Almost half past five.”

In one hour, she would begin her first day as Leo, who worked for CandyLand packaging drugs for transport and sales. God, she hoped she wouldn’t see Zip again, but when she had been that lucky?

“Do the others know I’m here?’

“Oh, yes. The princess is quite worried, but Mr. White is quite pleased. He says ‘Good job, sweetheart,’” Alastor relayed. 

“Tell him that most of the facility is underground. I don’t know deep underground, but it’s like a military bunker . . .or a prison.” 

The shadow took a look around, seeing more than she could ever hope to perceive with her human eyes. “This is quite the place of misery you’ve come to, Elisa. Delicious.”

“I made contact with Jesse,” Liz continued, not wanting to dwell on the dreary danger around her and push on the job at hand. “He’s going to get me in contact with his friends.”

“They’ll be pleased everything is going according to plan,” the shadow tilted its head in a grin. “Shall I tell them of your encounter with Izzy?”

“You saw that?”

“Saw it and unable to do anything about it, darling, but you had it well in hand.”

“The sonuvbitch almost smothered me on the street,” she groused under her breath. “No need to worry them about something we can’t help right now. I need to get some sleep for my first shift.”

And sleep didn’t come. She could only watch Alastor’s shadow staring back at her from the dark corner of the room. A crazy notion came over her that if she walked towards the shadow, touch it, then it would take her back to the Hotel, like some portal . . .It was both a comforting and scary thought. 

A loud siren reverberated throughout the hall, soon followed by an echo of countless doors opening and feet walking the hall. It must be 6:00, and they only had thirty minutes to eat before reporting for work. Liz rose, adjusted her hoodie with the drawstrings at the neck, and join the long file of demons heading in one direction.

Liz caught a glimpse of golden fur and tried to hurry forward to join Jesse but couldn’t without squeezing between bodies. She was rudely shoved back when she drew too close to a larger demon’s personal space.

“Back off, fish!” A demon with a wide maw of sharp teeth barked at her.

“S-sorry.” Damn. They were already calling her fish.

When she finally drew close to Jesse, she stuck close to him, almost tempted to hold onto his hand, but feared that would draw unwanted attention. She followed his lead of standing in line for a tray of food, which was a little different from the oatmeal she had with Zip last night, and sat with Jesse at the end of a long table. 

“Is this what you eat?” Liz asked, picking at the food the serving drone unceremoniously dumped on her tray. 

“Sometimes we get dried jerky or toasted bread.” Jesse shrugged and ate his meal with gusto. “Better eat up before someone thinks you don’t want it and tries to take your food.”

Her eyebrows rose in shock. “They steal meals?”

“Sometimes. Since you’re new, and haven’t proven how tough you are yet, someone is gonna try to …”. Like a rabbit sensing a predator, Jesse raised his head as his ears perked up. “Uh oh. Here one comes. Just punch him if he tries to grab your tray.”

“What!?” Liz couldn’t believe what she was hearing. 

“And if he punches back, ya gotta fight ‘em! Win or lose, just fight back! You’ll win respect if you do!”

“Jesse! I don’t want to fight anyone.” Liz hissed, instantly wondering what the fuck she had gotten herself into. She wanted to avoid confrontations! 

“You have to!” Jesse’s eyes were wide with meaning. “You don’t want to be at the bottom of the ladder in this place.”

A heavy stone landed in Liz’s gut at the thought as she was quite familiar with the pecking order or hierarchy that can form in internment camps or prisons. There was no telling what that meant in a facility for delinquents in Hell! 

The challenger was avian with a rooster like comb on their head and tail feathers dragging the floor behind them. They were eyeing Liz, intuiting if she was worth the trouble, and deduced she was. They reached for her tray, “If you’re not hungry, then I’ll eat it.”

Liz wanted nothing more than to let him have it. She was too nervous to be hungry and didn’t see the piddling meal as anything worth a confrontation for. However, Jesse’s eyes warned her of the consequences to come if Liz didn’t take a stand now. And how could she get in a fight with one of the people she was trying to help!?

Years ago, when she volunteered at a camp for at-risk youth, there was a counselor whom the kids both loved and feared. He was quick to discipline bad behavior as he was to encourage good deeds. Liz asked him how he found such balance during a lunch break - in her experience, most counselors were either too harsh or too lenient with their charges. He gave Liz a bright smile and said,  _ I love these kids with all my heart and would take a bullet for each of ‘em, but I want these little bastards to know if I catch ‘em ever breaking into my car or my house, I won’t hesitate to blow their asses away with my 9mm. _

“You better take your hand away before I take it off at the wrist!” She barked, swatting the hand away and standing up, and pushed the tray out of reach. 

“Fuck you, scrawny,” the avian retorted. 

“Get the fuck outta here before I take your food!” Liz snapped. 

“Already ate it, dumbass!”

“Exactly!” Liz had no clue where that threat was supposed to lead, but it seemed to have the desired effect. 

The avian looked her up and down, and to her relief, departed with a “Whatever, dipshit,” over the shoulder. Liz sat down and ate hurriedly, not because she was hungry, but to remove the source of any further provocations. 

“Hey, that was awesome,” Jesse praised.

“Next time, you warn me,” Liz growled between bites, “if I have to get into any altercations with the other . . . prisoners. . . “

“Firstly, don’t use big words like altercations. They won’t know what it means and it makes you sound like an egghead.” Jesse shrugged and resumed eating. 

_ Oh, Jesus Christ . . .Am I back in high school! I really am in Hell! _

_ *** _

Drix reminded Liz of a harlequin rabbit with a split evenly down the middle. One side was white, and the other was red. The horns matched the coloring, with one horn sharing white while the other was black. The split in coloring must be across his body as one hand was white, and the other was red.

The white hand was holding a file, and he eyed her over it. “24601? Zero sent me an email saying I was getting a newbie.”

_ Wow, even his eyes are mismatched.  _ Liz tried hard not to stare at his eyes, one was the usual imp amber, but the other was red. Was this a birth defect or normal for imps? 

Since Drix wasn’t asking her a question, she wisely stayed silent and waited. After her close call in the cafeteria, she wanted the rest of the day to go smoothly until tonight. As much as she wanted Jesse to stay by her side, it would draw too much attention, so he went into the production floor while she had to contend with Drix’s scrutiny on her own. 

Like Zero, Drix was less than pleased with her. “Are you a fuckin’ thief?”

“No . . .” she had to trail off lest she added a sir at the end—Damn Grandma and Mom for drilling manners into her as a kid.

“Ya sure? Ya got that ratty appearance of one.”

Was he being serious or trying to bait her? “No . . .I’m not a thief.”

“Good. Being a thief is a quick way to visiting Ripper and no one comes back from that.”

Jesse had given her a brief warning about Ripper.  _ No one knows what he looks like because no one comes back! They send the ones who seriously fuck up to him! _

“Pretty simple. Just do what the others are doing. I’ll let you slide for half an hour while you’re learning, but you better speed up because no one leaves until quotas have been filled.”

It was pretty simple but monotonous and repetitive. Wearing gloves and using measuring spoons, the workers sat at long tables and filled baggies with processed cocaine from a bowl that’s regularly filled from a stockpile of cocaine stored in boxes locked away in a storeroom to which only Drix has the key. 

_ I’m looking at enough cocaine to supply half of the United States . . . for a month!  _

It was heartbreakingly repetitive. After ten minutes of spooning the addictive powder into little bags and setting them into a shoebox, Liz decided she had finally arrived in her own personal Hell. 

It was mindless work, nothing to engage her interests or occupy her restless mind. No one was allowed to talk while Drix walked the floor, and Drix had plenty to occupy himself by menacing anyone too slow in filling dime bags. He made more than one patrol around newcomer Liz, and her back straightened each time he stood over her to count how many bags she filled. 

She must be doing an adequate job as he didn’t bark at her as she saw him do others he perceived as being too slow or clumsy. 

“Satan fuck! If you spill so much as one grain of dust, I’ll dock your rations for a week!”

“Hey, fucktard, my grandmother can package faster than you and she has no hands!” 

During these moments, it was possible to slip in a word of communication with a neighbor. While Drix berated a poor worker who was nearing the edge of tears, Liz whispered to her neighbor, “What’s the quota?”

With a quick glance at Drix, the demon tiled a long fox-like ear towards the large waist-high crate. “See that?”

“Yeah?”

“We gotta fill twenty of those up before the end of the day.”

Liz blinked. There were about five long table rows of workers filling painfully small bags with teaspoons. Liz hadn’t been paying attention to production speed until now, and she realized why Drix was such a hard ass on speed and efficiency if they had such a big quota to fill. If he didn’t, they would be in here all day and all night filling bags. 

“Is it just this room?” She whispered when Drix was verbally shredding another worker’s self-worth. 

“This room is for cocaine,” the foxy demon replied. “There are other rooms for weed, heroin, LSD, meth, and ecstasy.”

The only entertainment she had was the snatches of conversations with the demon she titled as Foxy, who didn’t mind answering her questions, was terse and to the point so as not to get caught by Drix. He was also efficient in filling his bags and had filled his box when Liz only managed to fill hers halfway. After a narrowed look from Drix when he inspected her box, she focused on filling her bags to spare herself the rough side of his tongue. 

_ Mom will be so proud of me. High school and college graduate who finished Law School, and here I am! Filling dime bags with crack cocaine!  _

Liz bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing. 

“Alright! Break time! Put down the spoons and bags and listen up!”

There was a shuffle of plastic and sighs of relief as arms and limbs stretched and popped. Liz was just grateful for a respite from the mind-numbing task - however, no one was getting up. Wasn’t this supposed to be a break?

Drix was rolling a large old style television on a trolley in front of the room. It even had a tape player box beneath it, and after plugging in the power cord, Drix fed an old VHS tape into the player and hit play. 

_ After hours of bagging cocaine, we get a movie? This would have been more helpful to play while we worked.  _

However, she noticed a big difference from movie time when she was in school to what she saw now. Instead of slouching backs, disinterested viewers, and someone trying to sneak in a nap, everyone was sitting at attention with all eyes on the tv. Liz had a bad feeling as the screen flicked on and went to snow to a staticky image of a clown. 

“Hello, kids!” The clown waved at the audience. 

“Hello, Fizzarolli.” Everyone said in unison. Liz followed a few seconds but stumbled over the tongue rolling name. 

The clown giggled, its hat tails jingling. “Have you been working hard? All work and no play, makes Jack …” the clown held up a hand to an absent ear, waiting.

“Happy!” The kids responded in the same voice. 

Liz saw Jesse watching the tv with a deprecating look, which quickly switched to neutral when Drix looked in his direction. The clown continued almost bouncing across the screen, head rolling on his shoulders like a basketball. Since Liz had been in Hell for a short while, it wasn’t the strangest thing she had seen. 

“And remember,” the clown continued jovially in a scratchy voice. “And if Jack’s happy everyone is …”

“Happy!” 

_ Is this a cult? What the fuck is this!?  _ Liz eyed Drix dubiously, planning to run for it if he began passing out paper cups of kool-aid. 

“And we have to keep Jack happy because he keeps all you wicked kids safe from Hell!” The clown did a cartwheel to the side of the screen, taking the curtain with him revealing a projector screen. The camera zoomed closer as it began a brief movie screen countdown. 

Then a series of violent imagery flashed on the screen. Most of it was a demon in demon violence, which made her blood curdle. A demon was having his head twisted off by a larger demon, one was being eaten alive, and another was having skull smashed by a hammer, and all this played out while the merry tune of Pop Goes The Weasel played as background music. 

“Hell is a place where Sinners like you face eternal torment!” The clown continued in a voice-over as the snuff films continued. “For all eternity you’ll be torn apart, burned alive, guts pulled out, eyeballs poked out, and impaled over and over and over again! Because God hates you and sent you to Hell to suffer!”

This was what Liz initially believed before she arrived in Hell. Constant torment and punishment, but while violent and dangerous, it wasn’t as brutal as the clown was making it out to be. There had been peaceful scenes at the Von Eldritches’ party, the shopping district, and the Hotel. Believing where this was going, Liz forced herself to watch the gruesome scenes and listened to the clown.

“Don’t worry! Jack has your back!” Fizzarolli flipped back onto the screen, stretching impossibly long limbs as if to embrace them all. “Jack has created CandyLand to keep all of you little rascals safe. He keeps all the meanies away, especially . . .” Then Fizz drew his arms together in a slouch crouched as if about to sneak up on someone to frighten them. “From the Angels!”

Then the screen flashed to images of tall winged figures with wicked grins and barbed halos. Liz stared as chills swept across her body. These were angels!? These tall, ebony encased beings with cold smiles and wicked weapons? These aren't the benevolent images she had always imagined in her mind at the mention of angels. Izzy’s story of angels hunting demons in the sewers came back to her, and she now had an easier time believing it true. 

What followed was recordings of angels massacring demons, and it was quite bloody to the point Liz felt physically ill. It was . . . terrible. And Marty survived this 30 times!? The demons had this annual event hanging over their heads each year!? Dear God, if she had this to look forward to each year, she’d want to numb herself with booze, sex, and drugs too! 

“All you have to do is work!” Fizz hopped down from above the camera, banishing the terrifying imagery, and beamed at the audience. “Working keeps Jack Happy! Working keeps you safe! Just follow the rules and you’ll be okay!”

Then Fizzarolli went over each of the rules which Liz expected. Obeying the staff, be punctual for shifts and meals, be in rooms at bedtime, and above all, work hard!

Then Fizzarolli signed off with a wave. “Until next time kids!”

Drix, whom Liz suspected was standing at the back of the room smoking a cigarette, stroll forward with a paint can in hand. Liz starred as he unceremoniously painted over the screen, just as Jesse had done the night Marty had been stabbed. She was the only one staring at him oddly as everyone was settling back in their chairs, relaxed, but visibly affected by the propaganda. An imp spray painting a tv was no new occurrence for them. 

It was all starting to fall into place for Liz as she resumed packing dime bags, her mind working furiously with what she just learned. It made so much sense why they went after young Sinners who had just fallen to Hell. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Alastor’s shadow slipping across the floor at her feet. Good, he must have been watching the propaganda too. She wanted to know what he thought of it later, but unfortunately, she would have to through her first day of working for CandyLand, first.

  
  



	38. Arc 6: CandyLand - Sign the Contract

_ I will never be able to arrange a D.A.R.E lecture with a clear conscience ever again. I will never be able to think of cocaine again without my hands going through the motion of spooning it into baggies. And I will never look at a dime bag again without measuring how well it was filled and being offended if it’s too full or not enough.  _

Liz decided the best way to keep kids from doing drugs was to force them to work in CandyLand for a day. They will run for the hills if a dealer offers them a dime bag. This might be good rehab therapy too! On second thought, if Angel Dust was here, he’d be trying to find a way to smuggle the crate of dime bags out from under Drix’s nose.

When Drix called a halt, declaring today’s quota has been met, they were free to get dinner. Liz stood with a sore back and empty stomach and very much ready to leave this room. That is until she was in the hall looking for Jesse when a hand landed on her shoulder. 

“Hey, sport.”

It was a knee jerk reaction formed by Izzy and P.P. District to shove off the hand and back away, putting her back against a wall. And seeing who it was made the reaction necessary in her eyes. 

Zip eyed her mute surprise by her reaction, but he recovered instantly. “Don’t be scared. Just have to sign the deal, sport.”

“What deal!?” Liz only fractionally relaxed. 

“The deal you have to make with Jack to stay in CandyLand.”

***

She didn’t want Zip walking so close to her. Especially since she was walking with the hall on her other side. He could easily push her against it and do …. anything to her. She slowed a step behind him. If he stopped or made a motion other than walking, she could react before he had a chance to grab her. 

_ Is this paranoia or caution? No, it would be hypervigilance. I have some form of PTSD after P.P. District and Izzy, but is it necessary? Did Zip really try to come onto me last night, or was it my paranoia? Fuck me, I’m gaslighting myself!!! _

“How’d you like your first day?” Zip lit up a cigarette as he let her to an elevator. What a difference a night made. Last time she didn’t think of getting into an elevator with him, but now she saw it as little better than being a mouse trapped in a box with a hungry snake.

Swallowing and shoving down the impulse to run from the elevator, she whispered, “It was okay.”

“Just okay? Color me impressed, most newbies are bitchin’ about the work and room size.” He took a drag on his smoke as he put away the lighter.

_ It seems he’s just making small talk about passing the time for a tedious job,  _ Liz thought as the elevator arrived.  _ Maybe it was my imagination? Or lost interest in me? _

No, most predators take time to groom potential victims and make them vulnerable to assault. It’s too soon for him to try anything more than … grooming me. Even the thought of it made her stomach roll. 

_ Been watching you, cutie _ . 

When the doors closed, she stiffened when Zip raised a hand, but only to press a button on the panel. Did he notice?

“Lighten up, sport,” Zip said, cocking an eye ridge in her direction. “What’s chewing your tail? You didn’t pinch any powder… did you?”

_ I have got to calm down! I’m acting suspicious!  _

_ “ _ No! I’m not a thief!” She muttered, annoyed at continually having to defend her integrity. 

“Don’t take it personally,” Zip gave her arm a rough pat like a coach reassuring a nervous little league player. “Lemme guess. Ya watched the tape?”

“Yeah,” Liz replied. It was better to let him think ‘Leo’ was freaked out by the tape than suspect the real reason. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Zip expelled a smoke through his sharp teeth. “You’re safe in CandyLand. Just gotta take the deal.”

“What do I have to do?” Liz asked, feeling safer if she got him talking about CandyLand.

“It’s no big deal. Drix said ya did solid work today and you’re worth keeping on.”

A chill went down her spine at the realization she had been taken in on a probationary period and didn’t know. If Drix had caught her whispering with Foxy, would she have been getting the boot out of CandyLand? Or a trip to Ripper? 

“Th-thanks . . .”

“Just hafta sign your name on the dotted line and you’re good.” 

“Okay.”

“No need to be scared, sport.”

Was she that apparent, or was he that good at reading her emotions? It probably wasn’t out of the question for a teenage boy to be nervous in Hell, but would it be perceived as vulnerable? 

Liz didn’t like this. Too much was out of her control, and she was at their mercy if they ever discovered her real purpose for coming here. She could leave tonight through Jesse’s escape hole. Leave and never come back here. She just had to wait a few more hours until she can be alone with Jesse and tell him to take her out of here.

_ Just like that? I fail him again? _

It was a short walk back to Zero’s office where the bored, overweight imp was looking over one of the nudie magazines. Without looking away from the glossy pages, he slid a paper with a pen across the desk at Liz. “Ya know how to write, kid?”

“Yes.”

“Then scratch your name on the dotted line.”

Looking it over, it didn’t seem like a contract for a soul. It wasn’t like thick papyrus or human skin with blood for ink. It looked like a contract she’s written up in the office. The page still felt warm, as if it had just come fresh off the printer. 

Skimming it, she read in so many words basically what she expected. In exchange for eternal servitude (until erasure, death, second-death, cease function, etc.), the signee would receive protection, sustenance, and shelter with the condition of obeying all rules within CandyLand. Rules which stipulate all efforts must be made to uphold CandyLand’s security from its enemies; Overlords, rival drug gangs, Angels, etc. The rules went on that all electronic communication devices were banned within CandyLand, such as phones, tablets, televisions (especially televisions!). 

Liz recalled Drix spray painting the tv after the sordid video. “I have a question.”

This time Zero looked up from his magazine and eyed her as if she had sprouted wings and flew out the window. “Wha’?”

“What’s wrong with televisions?” Liz noticed Zip was staring oddly at her. Had she fucked everything up with a simple question?

Zero looked from her to the contract in her hand. “Are … you reading the contract?”

“Uh, yes?” 

“Well, fuck. Ya brought us a goddamn scholar, Zip.” Zero muttered, agitated. “Television is a distraction from work. You got somethin’ against workin’ for an honest livin’?”

There were so many things wrong with that question. Firstly, how was it living if technically they were dead? Honest means getting wages for labor and having the freedom to spend those wages. “Why did Drix spray paint the tv screen?”

“That’s Mr. Drix to you, little chump,” Zero chided. 

“Okay, why did  _ Mr _ . Drix spray paint the tv screen?” 

“For a very good reason, a good reason indeed.” Zero reached into a drawer and took out a thick blunt and a heavy lighter. He took his time to delicately light up the blunt and take several puffs on it, eyeing Liz through the smoke. “Lemme explain it to ya in a way I think ya’ll understand, son.”

Liz read the danger signs a little too late. Zip had slowly eased himself out of her peripheral vision when she began reading the contract. Liz didn’t realize he was there until her shoulders were seized, and she was slammed down into the desk.

It was either through design or happenstance; the contract was flattened beneath her cheek and inches from her nose, the blunt touched the page. A lick of flame curled up as if to touch her nose, and the burning paper formed a growing black ring around the blunt. An exotic stench filled her nose, which made her eyes water. 

“Gonna say this once, kiddo, so open up that ear and listen good,” Zero growled. “The reason we got a rule against TVs …”. He drew a long, deep breath and then bellowed into her ear. “NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS!!!!”

Her ear rang, and she knew he likely cost her her hearing in her right ear decades from now. The bits of the page were creeping closer towards her nose, and she tried to drawback, but she was shoved down.

“Understand, kid?”

“Y-yes….”

“Yes, what!?”

“Yes sir!”

“Now sign the fucking paper before Zip carts your ass to Ripper.”

So Liz signed the fucking paper with ‘Leo’ on the dotted line. Charlie had assured her that any deals signed under a false name were voided; however, an Overlord might smell the ruse. Well, it was a risk, to be sure, but when there was no crack of thunder nor ominous voice demanding her actual name, she experienced relief and a little retribution when Zero took the contract with her signature still drying neck to the burned hole with a nod of satisfaction. 

“Now fuck off,” Zero snapped at her, and to Zip, he added, “And try not to any smartasses again!”

It was almost a walk of shame. Liz was rubbing her sore ear and wondering if the sharp smell of blunt would ever clear out of her nose with Zip walking at her elbow. While the horror of what happened melted away, fury and humiliation took their place. She wanted to storm and cuss out Zero’s name. Instead, she stewed in silence, which a teenage boy likely would have done. 

The elevators opened, and she went inside with none of the trepidation from before. Until Zip started talking. 

“Look, sport, that was rough and sorry I hadda do that, but ya shouldn’t mouth off like that.” He was rubbing the back of his neck in a show of discomfort. “But ya gotta follow the rules and that involves no mouthing off, especially at Zero.”

_ How was asking an honest question ‘mouthing off’?  _

She swallowed back the fury and said in a cool, sullen voice. “” It’s cool.”

Coming down from her fury, clarity took hold. Damn, she was too careless. Channeling her lawyer profession had been damaging. Maybe Drix had talked her up as a good enough worker that Zero let her misstep slide. 

A weight across her shoulders brought her back to the inside of the elevator. And Zip’s solid body was next to hers. “C’mon, don’t be like that. We’re friends, right?”

Oh, God. Now that business was out of the way, now pleasure took its place. She went very still, her heart caught in her throat as all her earlier fear of Zip came flooding back. Now the elevator was too small, like a cage or a coffin. 

“Look, kiddo, I like you,” Zip said in a brotherly fashion which carried a drop of venom. “And I wanna look out for ya and I don't do that for just anybody.” 

This was straight from the textbook for predatory grooming. Usually, the first contact is non-sexual, which desensitizes the victim to casual touches leading to sexual abuse. The words from countless pamphlets, lectures, education, and PSAs floated to Liz’s brain as she recognized what Zip was doing. 

_ He wants to ‘look out’ for me, which he ‘doesn’t do for everyone.’ Trying to validate me while manipulating me into seeing him as a protector. What’s next? A gift? _

“This is kinda against the rules, but I wanna share somethin’ with you.” He produced a candy bar with blue wrapping with a square-headed shape. And on the wrapper in the sharp edged font was the word Vudge Var. 

_ Wow. If only I had this foresight in Zero’s office. And in Dad’s apartment. And P.P. District.  _

“I don’t want to break any rules,” Liz said meekly. “I don’t want to get in trouble again.”

“Don’t worry, sport,” he crooned, and she realized the pet name, sport, was another form of grooming. “We’ll keep this as a secret between us, okay?”

_ I should take it and cram it down his damn throat and see how well he calls me sport with the wrapper clogging his windpipe. _

“Thanks,” she forced herself to say and took the candy bar. And it was the sheer force of will not to cringe when he gave her arm an affectionate squeeze. 

“Somethin’ tells me you’re gonna need all the help you can get.” Zip dropped his arm from her just as the elevator doors were opening. “You’re kinda scrawny with those weak arms.”

_ That’s because I’m a human woman, pervert. _

_ *** _

Whether they are dead or alive, whenever you put a bunch of adolescents together in a facility, be it a school or a prison sweatshop making drugs, there would always be cliques, bullies, and hookups. Evening meals were more laid back as there was no rush to finish eating to get to shifts. She kept to herself, with her head lowered to avoid eye contact with anyone. Right now, her goal was to find Jesse and then decide what she was going to do. 

Her skin still crawled from her encounter with Zip. That was not his first time grooming someone. There was a sickening familiarity in the actions and words, and Liz risked glancing around, wondering who among these kids have been victims? 

She spied Jesse sitting near the wall at a long table with Diego and Mateo, with a teal colored demon girl. As Liz drew closer, she saw the girl was covered in fine feathers and downy hair and resembled a harpy. Her arms were thicker, with long avian feathers sprouting into arm wings that folded close against her arms, allowing her to use them without hindrance. The hands were small, with long fingers that allowed her to deftly grasp an eating utensil to feed herself. Her face was heart shaped with a slight widow’s peak and soft hair tied back from her face. She eyed Liz with crimson eyes, pupiless eyes. 

Jesse motioned for Liz to sit next to him and beamed at the assembled friends. “See? Told ya she’d be here.”

His friends looked less than impressed. Diego sniffed at her but didn’t seem too enthused in meeting her. The bird girl looked less than impressed. The only neutral one was Mateo, who peered at Liz with intense curiosity. “You’re a girl?”

“I am,” Liz said, lifting her hood just a bit for him to see her better.

“Why?”

“I can pass myself off as a young boy better than I can pass myself off as a girl.”

“Are ya ugly?” 

“Mateo!” Diego snapped.  _ “¡Estás siendo grosero!” _

The little demon’s ears laid back in apology.  _ “Lo siento.” _

_ “Está bien. Últimamente no he tenido mi mejor aspecto,”  _ Liz said quickly to smooth things over. 

Both Diego and Mateo looked surprised; their ears perked like dogs who heard a strange sound. Had it been a while since they met another Spanish speaking person? 

Mateo folded his ears and took a nervous glance around the cafeteria. “We’re not supposed to speak  _ espanol.  _ It’s against the rules.”

Diego snorted and twitched an ear, a clear indication of what he thought of the rules. 

That made sense. The guards wouldn’t want the prisoners to plan a coup. But then, in this prison, why worry about prisoners escaping when they are too afraid of the outside world? 

She didn’t have much time. Dealing with the contract and Zip had taken up a part of the hour they had for dinner. Leaning forward, she whispered, “I’m just going to cut to the chase here. Do you want to leave here?”

There was a mix of responses. Mateo actually wagged his tail, Diego leaned back with his arms crossed, and the bird girl, who had to be Greta, made a chirruping sound, which Liz saw was her version of a snort. 

“And go where?” Diego groused. 

“The Happy Hotel,” Liz said.

This gave her another round of negative responses, save for Mateo, whose eyes went wide with curiosity. “Is it a good place?”

“Yes, it’s a very good place,” Liz promised.

_ “Mierda.”  _ Diego snapped. “Just like CandyLand is a good place? With a name like that? Probably a fucking brothel!”

“No! I promise it’s nothing like that!” Liz said firmly. 

“How can we know?” Greta spoke for the first time. There was a slight ‘v’ sound when she said we. Was that a German accent? “You could be lying to us.”

“She’s not lying!” Jesse said, his ears folding like an angry cat’s. “I’ve been there! It’s nothing like CandyLand.”

“From what you saw,” Diego prompted. “They could have cleaned it up. Did you see every room?”

“Of course not!” 

“Then you don’t know. She could be lying to you and . . .”

“I trust Liz! She’s been more of a mom to me than my own mother!” Jesse popped off, surging to his feet, his tail bushed out to be as thick as a baseball bat. 

“Problem?” 

All of them looked up at the new arrivals they hadn’t seen coming until now. Standing side by side was an ant and a polar bear. The ant had four arms like Angel Dust, and Arackniss and all were crossed across her torso. Her pink crop top was tailored for her extra limbs, while the denim skirt hiked up to reveal brown carapace thighs. Her eyes were pitch black, almost reflecting the light like the hood of a hearse. While the polar bear stood at seven feet tall and wore a letterman jacket with the CandyLand logo. He wasn’t wearing any pants, but Liz didn’t get offended like he was exposing himself. It was like meeting Whinnie the Pooh’s asshole big brother.

“Hi . . .hi, Asher,” Jesse said in a very small voice. “Hi, Annie.”

Asher regarded them with a predatory delight of a cat about to play with trapped mice. Like a painter recognizing the technique used in art or a mathematician recognizing a formula, Liz knew Asher as the bully he was. This kid was probably sent to Hell for shutting kids up into lockers or giving them swirlies in the bathroom. And what’s worse is CandyLand not only endorsed this role but encouraged it by giving him authority. 

Liz noticed a leather strap looped at his belt and shuddered as she imagined it being used. She knew CandyLand was terrible, but she couldn’t possibly imagine this! 

“Who’s this?” Asher regarded Liz with a cursory glance before training his eyes on Jesse. 

“Leo . . .he’s new,” Jesse said meekly.

“I know he’s new!” Asher snapped with a flash of teeth. “I ain’t seen him before so of course, he’s got t’ be new! Do you think I’m stupid, Jesse Cat? Think I need t’ be told like I’m some retard, like ya mom?”

If Asher knew Jesse’s mother or had any idea of what sort of relationship he had with her, he would know that wasn’t much of an insult to the cat boy. However, Jesse sat dejected with his ears folded and tail across his lap to protect it from abuse. “No, Asher, I don’t think you’re stupid. Sorry.”

After putting Jesse in his place, Asher set his sights on her. “So new kid, what do you think of . . .” 

“Asher . . .” the ant girl spoke for the first time. “Zip said . . .Zip said this one was hands off.”

Asher blinked his beady blue eyes at the girl as if she just materialized out of nowhere. “What?”

“Zip says we gotta leave this one alone . . .for now.” Annie fixed her dark gaze on Liz as if to challenge ‘Leo’ to act special, which they all knew he wasn’t. 

Liz felt the weight of Asher’s heavy scrutiny, but there was an envious quality behind his eyes as he looked from her to Jesse, who wisely kept his eyes lowered. It was there for a moment, then gone, swallowed up with disgust. “Fuckin’ fags.”

If Liz was confident her hoodie would hide it, she would arch an eyebrow at the curse. 

Since Liz was off limits and Jesse was providing adequate provocation, Asher sets his sights on the smallest of them, Mateo. “Hey, Mattie, word has it Hanson ain’t happy with you.”

“I do my work,” Mateo had his ears laid back in a frightening angle and struggled to put on a brave face.

“Leave him alone, Asher,” Diego warned, his own ears laid back but like an angry dog’s. “Hanson hasn’t said shit . . .”

“Not to you, asswipe,” Asher sneered. “Hanson wants to get rid of the little pissant and as soon as Zip stops bringing fags and brings some real workers, he’ll get knocked down to production . . .”

Diego’s nostrils flared as his teeth bared. “Mateo has worked in the greenhouse for ten years . . .Hanson hasn’t said shit.”

However, Liz remembered what Zero had mentioned about the farm wanting stronger workers. What if they moved someone up to the greenhouses to replace Mateo? 

Poor Mateo was close to tears, and from Diego’s anger, this has been a sore subject for them for a long time. Asher was trying to provoke something to happen so he could do something worse than taunt them. Well . . .if she was hands off.

“How little you must feel,” she said in a calm voice she used to land the final point in an argument in court. “To pick on a helpless kid to make yourself feel bigger.”

All eyes went to her, and again she had that feeling she had performed a circus trick as she did when Zero caught her reading the contract. Asher’s eyes flashed as he directed his attention at her.

“Watch it, fag. Zip ain’t here . . .”

“I know he’s not here.” Liz said coolly in a tone to indicate she couldn’t care less. In for a penny, might as well go in for a pound. “And you know what they say about people who hate ‘fags’. They’re usually one themselves.”

You could hear a pin drop from the silence at the table. If it was possible to die from death glares alone, she would be sprawled on the table lifeless. Asher’s teeth bared, almost grinding together as he stared at her, memorizing her as the target she was going to become for later.

“I don’t give a fuck what Zip says, but you just talked yourself out of dinner rations tonight,” Asher snarled.

Liz nodded, not giving him the reaction he wanted. As distasteful as it may be, she had Zip’s gift in her pocket. She won’t go hungry tonight. 

Asher gave them all a fierce look, which lingered on Jesse for a beat too long before he turned away, dismissing the table and leaving with Annie following him.

A collective sigh of relief blew from the table as all of them relaxed. Diego sat down, eyeing her with some measure of gratitude for taking the heat off Mateo. “You just made a big mistake pissing him off.”

“I know,” Liz replied, but felt a quivering in her center, which wondered why the hell she had to step in like that. 

Well, the short answer was she hated bullies. Bullies were the perpetrators of domestic misery from the high school jocks, parents, and siblings. People who terrorized others for their own self-esteem and amusement needed the most help, namely in mental institutions, so they couldn’t continue the toxic behavior. And having been a victim of bullying and abuse, Liz had a special hatred for them. 

“Liz, you shouldn’t have done that,” Jesse said in a reproving sigh. “Asher wasn’t going to do anything as long as we stayed still. You just put yourself in his radar with only Zip standing between you and him.”

“I’ll be okay,” Liz promised, though she wondered how she was going to keep that promise. Jesse needed to be more worried for himself. It was obvious to her that Asher was attracted to him but was too far in the closet to make it known to anyone, including himself. 

Greta gave a sardonic laugh. “Oh that’s true as long as Zip gets what he wants. Even if you were willing, you are not exactly his type.”

“Yeah,” Diego chimed in. “Imagine how bad things will go for you if Zip finds you … lacking a stem and cherries.”

Their laughter was mean and insulting, but while her cheeks burned hotly, she realized she had won over a smidge of their respect for shielding Mateo at her own expense, if not some trust. And that’s what it takes with kids who have endured hardship for the benefit of others. They were so accustomed to making the sacrifices, when someone sacrifices on their behalf selflessly, it amazes them. 

Liz wanted to flee this place and Zip not long ago, but doing so was impossible now. Whatever small trust she earned would be gone forever. Trust and faith were precious, fragile gems in this place and not something to be thrown carelessly away. 

***

She ate the candy bar slow to make it last. It had a nutty flavor, but the nuts were dark like chocolate chips. And it was a candy bar made in Hell. 

Best not to overthink it. 

Focus on the successes. She had survived day one of CandyLand with her cover intact. She had broken the ice with Diego and Greta. And she had not turned tail and ran away. 

What she didn’t want to think of were the very things she was discussing with Alastor.

“It’s worse than we thought,” Liz said, taking off her shoes and socks so her feet can breathe. “We believed the kids were too scared to try escaping CandyLand, but they are actually too afraid to leave CandyLand because they’ve been brainwashed into believing Pentagram City is direly dangerous.”

“Isn’t it?” The shadow quipped. 

“You know what I mean. They think it’s all torture and torment, like I thought Hell was supposed to be. Jack is feeding those fears to keep the kids from wanting to leave. Good prisoners are the ones too afraid to leave the prison.” 

And they certainly don’t trust her, at least not yet. She was a newcomer and a person in disguise to spy on CandyLand on top of it. Not really the most trustworthy of roles, but she had to get through to them. She talked at length with both Diego and Greta, getting to know them better. However, to her shock, they weren’t as young as she had initially believed.

Greta hailed from Germany during the rise of the Nazi Regime, while Diego and Mateo struggled during the Great Depression in New Mexico. These kids were more than twice her age, lived at a time when adults took advantage of others and spent more time in CandyLand than they’ve been alive on Earth. It was no wonder they were so jaded when it came to trusting others. She wondered what they did to end up in Hell. How did Mateo end up in Hell? He seemed like a friendly kid. Diego may have made a mistake like Jesse. Greta . . .Liz didn’t want to dwell on what she could have been up to during Nazi Germany.

“It’s strange.” 

She raised her head to the shadow. “What is?”

“The deal . . .they aren’t usually conducted without the Overlord’s presence.”

“How are they done?”

“I prefer an old fashion handshake, but most Overlords want it in writing, especially for servitude, but the Overlords are usually present for the signing. I didn’t sense an Overlord’s presence which leads me to believe it won’t hold water.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?” If nothing kept the kids here, other than their own fear, then that’s one obstacle out of the way. 

“Maybe?”

“Do you know anything about Jack?”

“Never met the fellow. I do know for someone who is one of the older Overlords no one has seen him in centuries. Hidden away in his CandyLand, cooking up candies for all the demons.”

“Do you know where he is? In CandyLand?” A curious part of her was interested in seeing Jack for herself. 

“Not around here. I could break my shadow away from yours and do a little scouting.”

“You can do that?”

“I can’t stray too far without the shadow losing its power.”

After a moment of consideration, Liz said, “Not right now. I want you to watch over me while I sleep.”

The shadow grinned so wide that, by the laws of physiology, should split the top of the skull off. “I always do, darling. I always do.” 


	39. Sex in the Pentagram City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shard recalls when he tried to take his relationship with Marty to the next level while Angel remembers the night he have Marty his nickname Weeps.

**Shard** : Did you get her?

There was a long pause. Maybe Izzy was too busy moving the bitch to his client. Likely, the bitch was giving him plenty of trouble for his effort. That was just like her to cause them more problems.

Then he finally got the response.

**Izzy** : No.

Shard stared long and hard at his phone. The only person in the room not about to burst into a furious fit was the sleeping Marty. 

**Shard** : WTF!? I swear to God and Satan, you’re like that goddamn cartoon cat that can’t catch the fucking mouse.

**Izzy** : Fuck you. You said she can get in and out of CandyLand. Where?

**Shard** : Only the cat knows! And why the fuck should I help you again anyway? Chances are the bitch’s luck will run out in CandyLand. They’ll do the job for me!

**Izzy** : No money. 

“Dammit!” Shard growled under his breath. To Marty’s unconscious body, he muttered, “You and your cumstain caused me a lot of problems, ya know that right?”

Marty didn’t respond, lying prone like the dead. His face was whole and untouched as if it never met the bottom of Izzy’s spiked boots. However, there was a white streak in his usually jet black hair. And his ebony ears now spotted white tufts interiors. In the center of his chest, where the angel blade had found its mark, was white scar tissue spiraled out like a star. 

“Buddy, what did she do to you? Damn, when are you gonna wake up so things can go back to normal?” Shard held Marty’s hand, remembering its touch on his face and body. 

There had been one job that almost got them both erased. What had been a simple collection job turned into a brawl as the debtor had come under the protection of a small time gang who thought they could run rough with Tony Shark’s crew.

While Shard was able to return blow for blow, Marty had been lethal. Slipping in and out of invisibility made him a nightmare for their opponents, and with powerful punches and sweep of his tail, they dealt with both gang and debtor finishing the job and limped to the nearest bar.

It was a celebration of victory and the joy of living to see another Hellish day. Bloodied, clothes were torn, and drinking like a fish out of water they made enough noise the bartender cut them off and shooed them out. Their intentions were to find another bar, but by the time they arrived at Marty’s car, their goal changed to something closer at hand.

There was a stirring in his pants at the physical memory of feeling Marty’s hot body as they walked - stagger actually - through the parking lot, both relying on the other to keep them from landing face first into the asphalt. 

Shard couldn’t remember who initiated the kissing, yet it ended with his back against the hood of the car with Marty weight him down, shoving up his shirt to explore the thick fur of his chest. Marty’s mouth was hot and tasted of liquid and peanuts, wholesome and real. 

There was a desperate need to copulate. They barely allowed enough space between them to shuck down their pants. Shard had male partners before, both personal and business, but only with Marty would he be the bottom. 

“Out here?” Marty murmured, a moment of hesitation playing across his face as he regarded the parking lot. It was empty, his car parked next to the building, and a dumpster could block most if not all of the view from any happenstance witnesses leaving the bar. 

Shard didn’t give him a chance to suggest they go elsewhere. He shoved his mouth against Marty’s, cutting him off, and a hand grasped the bulging between Marty’s legs. “Yeah, out here.”

However, when Marty prodded him with only his spit and precum to ease the way, Shard almost had second thoughts. Almost. 

Marty was always a gentle giver. Most guys would start pumping away as if they were staring in some damn porno, but not Marty. With his hot breath on Shard’s neck, Marty took him slowly, allowing his body to adjust and accept the intrusion. 

“Is this good? Are you okay?”

“Christ, Marty, I’m not a fucking virgin bride . . .” Shard chided while he would never admit he appreciated Marty checking in with him. “You’re one of the few men I let fuck me . . .go for it.” 

Once Marty got into a rhythm, he became passionate, teeth gritted when he wasn’t engaged in a kiss or love bite. Hands anchored Shard in place for his strokes, and when he came, he pushed in deep, hips pulsing in short jabs as he poured everything into his partner. 

“Goddamn . . .” Shard murmured, droplets of sweat dotting the car hood beneath him. “I’m gonna be leaking cum all night like a whore. . .”

“S-sorry . . .” Marty sighed, withdrawing from Shard’s body. “I’ll wear a condom next time.”

“S’okay,” Shard pulled up his pants and fetched a cigarette from his pocket, and offered one to Marty. “Let’s go to your place . . .”

On the drive, Shard made the suggestion that’s been lingering on his mind for a while. “Marty . . .let’s live together.”

“What?” Marty’s eye ridges rose in surprise. “We did for a while when I first dropped down here.”

“I know, but that was just you sleeping on my couch while you figured things out. I mean . . .” Shard tried to think of the right words, but the best he could come up with. “Let’s . . . _ move in together _ .”

There was a tension slowly feeling the car. Marty had his eyes on the street ahead up, but an ear was swiveled towards Shard. “You don’t mean for us to live like roomies, do you.”

“Just . . .just think about it. We’ve been doing this song and dance on and off for years. I know we’ve seen other people, but we keep coming back together. Why not just go all in together.”

“God, Shard, this is . . .a lot,” Marty sighed. “The last committed relationship I was in . . .it didn’t end so well.”

“I know your wife took your kid and vamoosed,” Shard sighed. “But I ain’t her. Fuck, you ain’t even the same shmuck ya were back then. And this is . . .this is different. I ain’t proposing marriage, pal. We’re just two fellas who like to fuck livin’ together.”

“I’ll . . .I’ll think about it.” Marty’s ears dipped in an apology, which pissed Shard off. That’s the kind way of saying no. 

“It ain’t like I love you or anythin’,” Shard snorted, rolling his eyes and taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Figured we’d split the rent and have some fun. . . wouldn’t mind ya bringin’ that hooker around . . .”

“I’m not seeing him anymore,” Marty said stiffly in a tone that declared an end to that topic.

Shard raised an eyebrow. So something had happened between them.

For years, Marty had crushed on the pink spider prostitute to the point Shard would have been jealous of their interactions didn’t have a transaction attached. It got to the point where Marty set aside funds to pay for Angel Dust’s time. Then out of the blue, Marty stopped hiring Angel Dust. In fact, he refused to speak about it and was terse when he was mentioned. 

Shard never brought up the topic of moving in together again. And maybe . . .maybe if Marty had agreed to move in together, they would have been too busy finding an apartment for him to ever learn of the hit on Liz. Or he would have been there when Izzy had broken in and helped Marty kick the shit out of him.

Now Marty lay like a stiff with no guarantees he was ever going to wake up or not.

“I lied . . .I love ya, ya big dumb bastard. And fuck you for makin’ me into some kinda sad sap over ya.” Shard’s sorrow switched over to fury within seconds, like sparks over oil. “And fuck that bitch for almost gettin’ you killed. When she’s gone . . .we’ll work things out between us. You and me . . .partners for eternity.”

Shard kissed Marty’s lips and grieved how his partner couldn’t return the affection. 

***

“He looks like a piece of shit.”

“Yeah,” Angel Dust replied, not bothering to defend Marty in the least. “He makes this room look like a funeral home.” 

Arackniss regarded Marty with a small measure of sympathy. The asshole had been a decent brawler back in Lirkin Mill, and anyone who could hold his own in what could have been a one-sided fight earned some respect, especially if the palooka survived being stabbed through the heart with a holy knife of all things. 

“Eh, remember when Tony got his face cleaved in by a hoe while dealing with the Miller gang?” Arackniss muttered, eyeing Marty’s new white streak in his hair. 

“Which Tony was it? Russo or Ricci?” Angel Dust folded his lower arms and rubbing his chin in thought. 

“Ricci. Closed casket cuz the mortician couldn’t sew his face back together.”

“Ah, yeah I remember now. Shame. Hadda cute mug too.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them. They rarely shared the same space together, but when they did, they had two unspoken rules keeping the peace between them. Arackniss continued to call Angel Dust by his living name Anthony while Angel Dust kept his sexuality and profession low key. 

“Soooo,” Arackniss said, looking very uncomfortable. “You and this asshole …?”

“Yeah, Weeps was one of my…’friends’.” This was odd. Arackniss never ever asked  _ anything _ of Angel’s job. 

“Why ya call him Weeps?”

“Liz asked the same thing one time.”

“Did ya tell her?”

“Nope.”

“Ya gonna tell me?”

“Do ya really wanna know,  _ fratello _ ?” Angel leered at the smaller spider. 

“Ugh, whatever. Don’t wanna know if he cries during sex anyway.” Arackniss rolled all eight of his eyes before giving Marty a last look. “Well, ya poor schmuck, hope yer havin’ pleasant dreams or whatever.” 

Arackniss left while Angel stayed behind and regarded Marty with an amusing look. It had been years since Marty last paid for Angel’s services. Marty had a regular client until . . .that last night. 

It had started like any other time Marty had hired him for an hour. They went to Marty’s apartment, and like the many times before, Marty was gentle, even sensual with the spider. Angel had been getting into it with all four arms around Marty, open and receptive to Marty pouring his desire and passion into him. 

Marty didn’t need much encouragement, but Angel had snorted a line of coke shortly before arriving at the apartment and was feeling a bit frisky and horny himself.

“Yeah . . .fuck me . . .fuck me hard,” Angel moaned, pressing his chest against Marty’s. “Oh, harder, Daddy! Harder!”

Marty froze, his arms stiff rails around Angel, a spasm went through his body as if hit by a taser. “Wh-what did you call me?”

Jolted by the sudden stop, Angel blinked. “What? Daddy?”

Marty recoiled as if Angel had spat in his eye. For the first time since Marty laid eyes on Angel, he was rough with the pink spider, pushing him off his lap. “D-d-don’t call me that!” 

“Hey, hey, sorry! You never said not to call you that.”

“Wh-why did you . . .why did you call me that?” Marty turned away, letting his feet on the floor and raking both claws through his hair. 

Angel shrugged all four shoulders. “I was just, ya know, gettin’ into it. Didn’t mean anythin’ by it.”

“It . . .it means something when someone calls you that. It means a lot.”

“Christ, are you . . .are you crying?” 

Marty stood abruptly and left the bedroom, grabbing a sheet to wrap around his waist in afterthought. Angel laid back on the bed to smoke a cigarette as Marty’s hour wasn’t up yet. He was accustomed to clients suddenly getting emotional during a session: frustration with impotence, angry with him when he insisted on payment first, heartbroken because they were too far into the fantasy believing they were in a relationship. 

His cigarette was burned halfway when Marty returned to the bedroom. His eyes were red, and the sheet was close to slipping off his hips and tail. Angel eyed him for a moment before inquiring, “Do ya want me t’ leave?”

“Nnnoo . . .” Marty said, his speech heavy from drinking. “Just . . .just don’t say anything anymore.”

So they resumed sex, but it was the least enthusiastic coupling Angel had ever experienced outside of rape. Marty was mechanical, trying to force his body into a climax so they could finish. Angel let his mind wander onto other things, such as dropping by the Hooker’s Lane to drop off his earnings to Valentino, buying Fat Nuggetz some food, paying rent, and whether he had time to visit Cherri Bomb before his next shift at the club.

Finally, Marty finished, and by then, the hour was nearly over. However, it seemed Marty was done with him, so Angel collected his clothes from the floor and got dressed. As he was pulling up his skirt, he heard a sharp sob.

Marty was weeping openly, sitting naked on the bed with tears streaming down his face and dripping off the bottom of his snout. Angel wasn’t sure what to do or say in this situation and had a bad feeling that he had just lost a client.

“I . . .I didn’t mean to,” Marty said, his speech almost impeded by alcohol and crying. “I’m sorry . . .”

“Hey, hey, I’m okay. No hard feelings,” Angel crossed his arms, looking nonchalant but confused and uncomfortable. Was this guy going to complain about him? He already has been smacked enough times for being a smartass to clients.

“N-not you . . .her,” Marty swung his head back and forth, dislodging more tears that dotted his knees and floor. “I’m sorry . . .I’m so sorry. . .if I could go back . . .”

Angel couldn’t understand him as he began weeping into his open hands. As much as Angel knew he needed to back out on the street to meet his quota, he took the time to get Marty to lay down in bed and gave him a lit cigarette. “Look, pal, I have no fuckin’ clue whatcha cryin’ ‘bout and I don’t wanna know. None of my business, but it’s no use cryin’ over whatever shit you did before. Down here, there’s nothin’ anyone can do to make up for what they did up there, ya know? I’ve been in Hell long enough to know that.”

Marty didn’t speak, just lay in bed, smoking his cigarette in silence. Angel left without another word and didn’t see Marty again until Lirkin Mill. 

Now Angel looked over Marty and wondered if ‘her’ was Liz or her mother? Or someone else? And why was Marty in Hell?

Asking someone why they were in Hell was tantamount to asking for someone’s weight, religion, or sexuality. It was personal for each Sinner. While some will openly boast of what they’ve done, others keep it to themselves in silent shame. And who could really know? 

He knew enough new arrivals who were utterly shocked they were in Hell, claiming it was all a big mistake and they were really good people and deserve Heaven. Others look around, shrug, and begin their afterlives in Hell without a qualm.

“Well, Weeps,” Angel said, bending down to give Marty a peck on the cheek. “Sleep tight, pal, we’ll do what we can t’ keep Liz safe for ya.” 

In a moment of a second thought, Angel continued. “Well, not really, cuz Alastor, he’s the Radio Demon by the way, is crushin’ on her or somethin’ cuz he said somethin’ ‘bout watchin’ her sleep at night or whatever. Oh, and I might end up tossin’ her ass offa cliff if she keeps being my therapist. She got suckered into becomin’ a Redemption Consultant by Charlie and Vaggie which, I dunno, is very healthy career choice for her. She had a coupla close calls. Valentino, my boss, almost got a look at her and that White Demon, Izzy is still after her and almost got her too, but she got kidnapped by imps workin’ for CandyLand instead. And Pops got a little bit pissed at her, which usually ain’t good cuz he’s the mob boss of the Family, but hey, Liz’s is a tough broad so she knows how t’ handle herself.”

Angel left, heading downstairs for a drink and smoke and maybe see if he can get the cat bartender to open up a little. Marty lay still and motionless . . .until his right ear twitched. 


	40. Arc 6: CandyLand - Three Days

Three days. Three miserable days of bagging cocaine into dime bags. There was a changeup as halfway through the second day, Drix pulled her from bagging cocaine to stamping the CandyLand logo on the dime bags as production was moving faster than the stampers could keep up. It was a nice change, which was a reprieve from the monotonous work of earlier, but it did deprive her of her chatting companion, Foxy, for the rest of the day.

He was affable, didn’t mind answering her multitude of questions.

She asked the first day, “Has anyone ever seen Jack?”

Shrugging, Foxy whispered, “Dunno. I’m pretty sure the head honchos here do.”

“Who are they?”

Foxy had to wait until Drix exploded into a diatribe at a poor unfortunate soul who spilled his bowl of cocaine. “The bosses. Zero for sure, I think Drix and Hanson too.”

“But none of us . . .I mean the workers have ever seen him?”

“Hell, no. And I don’t wanna,” Foxy whispered, his ears almost folding in fright at the thought. “Even the bosses are scared of Jack.”

“But do you know where Jack stays?” From his odd questioning look, she quickly added, “So I can stay away from there.”

“Dunno . . .maybe in the places we aren’t allowed to go?” Foxy shrugged. 

And those places were quite extensive. Basically, the workers could go to their dorms, quick stations in Green Houses, Production, and Packaging. The imps mostly handled Shipping unless they had a particularly big shipment, and they brought in the stronger workers to help load the trucks and vans. And the cafeteria was the only place where the kids could mill about with free time before lights off. 

The disciplinary committee - Asher, Annie, and Zip trio - were the only ones with free rein of the facility. Liz suspected Zip was included to make sure Asher and Annie didn’t cross a line somewhere, but he was in it for the hell of it too. She was dining with Jesse and his friends, trying to convince them the Happy Hotel was safe when the trio came into the cafeteria on the hunt.

Maybe it was a sixth sense you lost when you left high school behind, or it was something demons had, but the cafeteria went silent like a meadow when a predator is on the prowl. Everyone ducked their head with eyes lowered and stopped talking as the trio zeroed in on the guilty party.

Knowing what was going to happen, Jesse hissed into Liz’s ear. “No matter what . . .don’t intervene or try to help them.”

“What’s . . .what’s going to happen?”

He squeezed her arm to make her go silent as the trio went by their table. Even Mateo had his face hidden in Diego’s arm, and Greta boldly turned her head to watch. 

A small demon, small as in he was only a few inches taller than Liz, tried to make a break for it. And where would he have gone, Liz wondered? The facility was set up like a prison. There was nowhere to go. 

Asher caught him a clothesline swing, and the demon almost did a flip from the impact. Annie was on him, holding him down with all four arms, and Zip began stripping him to Liz’s horror. 

She turned her eyes to Jesse, who was looking away and her hand curled around his wrist, taking his hand into hers. Was she witnessing what had happened to him before she learned of CandyLand’s horrors?

“Stop! Stop! I didn’t . . .!”

“Don’t lie, Eric,” Asher sneered, unhooking the strap from his belt. “We found the joints in your room earlier. You really thought Finix couldn’t count?”

“Those aren’t mine . . .!”

“Of course they ain’t yours!” Annie jeered as Zip pulled his pants down his hips and legs. “They’re CandyLand’s!”

Liz had to look away as overwhelming helpless fury filled her as the screams began. Jesse’s shoulders twitched at each impact of the strap hitting flesh, and she knew he was feeling those blows from memory. Liz wanted to hug him, take him out of the cafeteria, and all the way to the Happy Hotel. She wanted to get them all out of here, especially Mateo’s, who peered at her with wet eyes. Without thinking about it, she held out a hand, and he crawled under the table, surprising Diego, and burrowed his face into her stomach in a tight embrace that squeezed the air out of her middle.

When it was over, the victim was weeping, shivering on the floor as both Annie and Zip stood and threw his clothes at him. Liz ducked her head as they passed their table. This had been the first time since she saw Zip since her near disaster of signing the contract. One good thing about a strict work schedule, it didn’t leave room for being harassed or hounded by a predator, but she noticed the burning look in his eye. 

Why? What was that look for?

Then she realized she was holding Jesse’s hand while comforting a crying Mateo with the other. Was that!? Jealousy!? Only a predator would see giving comfort to others as a sexual act. And he wasn’t the only one with the green eye. Asher narrowed his eyes at their table, likely not forgetting her insult from their first meeting.

Damn . . .she had to be careful. If they stripped her down . . .it would not end well at all. 

And that almost came about on her third night.

When she entered the room, Alastor’s shadow spoke to her. “Someone came calling while you were out.”

“H-how do you know?” Nothing seemed out of the normal of her sparse room. 

“There’s an odor of bear in this room.”

Bear? Asher!? He had been in her room? Oh shit . . .

Sure enough, when she lifted up the mattress from the floor, there were three dime bags, the same ones she had been filling up for hours. It didn’t take much thought or imagination to know Asher and his goons were on the way. They were going to strip her down and beat her; however, once they see she wasn’t a teenager, male, or demon, it would end up being more than a beating. 

In a near panic, she considered swallowing the baggies and taking the risk of ODing or incurring a seizure until Alastor provided a solution.

“Put them in a corner and I’ll hide them.”

“How?”

“I’m a shadow, darling, trust me.”

And she did. She put the three bags in the corner and watched as Alastor’s shadow molded over them. Liz stared at the spot and blinked when she couldn’t see where the bags had gone. What had happened? Where were they? Before she could investigate, she heard the telltale sounds of footsteps in the hall outside.

She quickly took an innocuous position on the mattress with her back against the wall in a show of resting after a hard day’s labor. The door was flung open, and a beaming Asher led the way inside with Zip and Annie right behind him. The three of them filled the room, so she experienced a sense of extreme claustrophobia, particularly because they were here to do her harm.

“Where ya stash ‘em, Leo?” Asher demanded, showing off a row of razor sharp teeth.

“Stash what?” Liz asked as innocently as possible . . .which shouldn’t be a challenge as she was actually innocent of the crime.

“The dime bags, dumbass. Get up!” 

She hastily stood before they could ‘help’ her up. Liz didn’t want their hands on her as much as possible and stood in the corner where Alastor hid the dime bags as Asher tossed her bed.

He snorted in agitation when the bed didn’t provide the evidence and eyed her hotly. “Empty your pockets.”

Without a word, she turned out her pockets in pants and hoodie, fearful they would do a strip search. When that didn’t turn up any incriminating proof, Asher stalked the corners of the room, eyes blazing. “Where ya hid ‘em, ya little bitch!”

“I didn’t hide anything,” Liz said calmly. 

“Bullshit!” Asher howled at her.

“I can’t hide something I don’t have,” she swallowed, pushing her back into the corner, terrified they would see the hidden dime bags.

In a move she didn’t see coming, Asher pushed her in the gut. It bent her double, and all the air rushed from her body. Choking, she dropped to her knees as her eyes watered, relearning how to breathe. 

“Zip, your little friend is a smartmouth! You better do something with him.”

“I’ll have a talk with him.”

The imp stayed behind while Annie and Asher left, which didn’t make her situation much better. The imp knelt beside her, and she managed to coax the air back into her lungs as he patted her shoulder and back in a comforting motion, which didn’t really ease her concerns about being around him at all.

“Ya can’t be a smart ass, sport,” Zip gently chided. “I’m tryin’ to look out for ya, but ain’t much I can do if you keep popping off at Zero and Asher.”

How was it ‘popping off’ if she asked a simple question or defended herself? She wiped her eyes on the back of a hand. “I’m okay. You can go.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Zip sighed, drawing an arm around Liz's shoulders, leaning against the wall next to her. “Let’s talk a little, okay?”

The door was closed. Would anyone come running if she cried for help?

Swallowing, she crossed her arms across her stomach. How many times she heard this story from abused kids or women?  _ He just wanted to talk. I didn’t think anything was going to happen. He was so nice. _

“I’m really tired . . .”

“Kid . . .you need to understand a few things about CandyLand.” Zip’s voice was no longer its friendly lilt, but now a hard grind. “Everything is give and take here. You kids work and we protect ya from Hell. Usually, Asher and Annie kick down the door and start kicking ass, but this time I reminded them they couldn’t do anything unless they found the dime bags in your room.”

His hand gripped her knee hard to leave bruises. “So what are you gonna do for me, huh?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, using the pain to keep herself grounded and focused.

_ Been watching you . . . _

No, no, she shoved that memory away, refusing to let it take control of her now. Asking what he wanted would give Zip the opening to ask for sexual favors, so she had to offer him something else he may take instead.

“I can . . .I can watch other people . . .” she offered in a low voice. “Tell them if they’re doing anything they aren’t supposed to.”

There was a surprised silence at this unexpected offer. His grip tightened on her knee and then went slack. “You’ll watch that asshole Diego?”

“And his little brother too,” Liz said, taking hold of his interest. “I’m in good with them and Jesse and Greta.”

There was a long pause as he considered it. Liz closed her eyes and hoped his thirst to have something over Diego was stronger than his sexual desire for ‘Leo.’ 

“Alright, sport, you do that,” Zip said, standing up with a bit of a disappointed air. “You come to me if he does anythin’.”

“How? I mean most everywhere is off limits.” 

“You tell Drix you need to see me and I’ll come get ya.”

_ Get me as in taking me somewhere to speak privately or as in to attack me?  _

Doesn’t matter. Liz nodded. “Alright, I will certainly do that.”

“Ya come from a finishin’ school or somethin’? You sound too damn smart for your own good.”

The tension in her shoulders didn’t ease until the door closed behind him. Sagging against the wall, she expelled a long breath as she felt her muscles unknot and bones go slack as the danger passed.

“Alastor?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Are the dime bags still there?”

“Of course!”

“Can you get rid of them?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Damn,” she sighed. As long as they were in her possession, she was in danger, but she’ll be damned before she let an innocent bystander take the blame. 

What if she took them to work and smuggled them into the production line? Indeed having three additional bags wouldn’t draw attention . . .however, Drix was too watchful, and while Foxy was willing to converse with her when the imp’s back was turned, he might raise an objection to cover her smuggling dime bags. If not him, then someone else might see. And if she had them on her and they did a random search . . .what could she do?

There was a knock on the door. Liz's heart leaped into her throat as she suspected it was Asher or Zip, but Jesse’s voice came through the door. “Liz? Are you okay? Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here.” 

He slipped inside, looked her over, likely expecting her to be in the condition he had been in a handful of days ago. “Are you okay? What did they do?”

“Nothing . . . they . . .Asher tried to set me up.” She pointed where the dime bags still lay in the corner, having been too scared to touch them. 

“Oh damn,” Jesse gasped at the sight of them. “What . . .I mean . . .how did you . . .?”

“Alastor hid them when they came in. Asher and Annie didn’t try anything because they couldn’t find them . . .Zip though . . .” God, now she understood why victims of harassment didn’t want to talk about it. It was embarrassing to say out loud. “I . . .I promised to spy on Diego for him if he . . .left me alone.”

“Damn . . .Liz, you’re going to . . .”

“No! Of course not!” Liz was offended he would believe that of her. “It was either that or . . .never mind. What am I going to do with these?”

A grin spread across Jesse’s face. “I know. We sell them outside CandyLand.”

***

The only thing Jesse would tell her about how he left CandyLand was it was a tight squeeze, and he found it quite by accident. 

Sometimes the staff had workers clean their break area. It was a small room with an old coffee maker and refrigerator, like the sort she had seen in countless offices. Jesse had been sweeping the floor when he knocked a salt shaker off the table and rolled beneath the fridge. Afraid he would be accused of stealing it, he had moved the fridge out of the way to retrieve the shaker and saw the weakened wall.

“I think they put the fridge there to cover it up, but forgot all about it,” Jesse explained in a hushed whisper as he led Liz down the long halls. 

Upon closer inspection, he discovered his claws were sharp enough to cut through the thin drywall, which he moved aside to reveal he could squeeze into the narrow space between walls and into a crawl space beneath the floors.

“There’s a hole that opens into the sewers. I cover it up with bricks so no one can see it if they go down there. I’ve been using it for years and no one’s noticed.” 

“And no one’s noticed? At all?”

“I’m really careful,” Jesse replied. “I only go during late hours when the imps aren’t in the break room and I always come back before breakfast.”

“They don’t use the break room in the morning?”

“Nope. Why would they when they have their own kitchen for themselves on the upper levels away from us? They only use the break room in the middle of the day.”

The hard part was moving the heavy refrigerator, and behind it was the outline of a loose part of the wall he had created with his claws. It shifted to the side, opening the space behind the wall. Liz poked her head inside and saw it was quite narrow. 

Disappointed, she said, “This isn’t big enough for the others.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jesse admitted, his excitement dampened. “We’d have to make it bigger, but then they’d notice it.”

So much for leading people out of CandyLand via Jesse’s escape route. A part of her was dismayed at how she was no closer to helping Jesse or anyone after three days.

“Can I fit?”

They both whirled around to see Mateo standing at the doorway, watching them with hopeful eyes.

“Whoa! Mattie, what are you doing here!?” Jesse glanced at the hole and at Liz. “Where’s your brother?”

“Asleep. Hanson had him moving fertilizer bags all day so he fell asleep as soon as he laid down. Can I come?” 

“We’re going outside CandyLand,” Jesse said cautiously, again glancing at Liz.

“I know, but . . .I wanna see the outside.” Even Mateo was looking at Liz.

Were they asking her permission? Well, she was the adult here, but she wasn’t sure about this. “We’re going to the Happy Hotel. Is that okay?”

“Uhhh,” there was a moment of hesitation in the smaller Xolo’s face. “Okay. I’m not scared . . .but is it nice?”

“Yes, it’s a very nice place.” Maybe this was the key? If they won’t believe her an outsider or Jesse, a relative newcomer, maybe they would believe a known member could witness the Hotel. “But you have to do as we say and stay with us. No wandering off, alright?”

Maybe later, she would come to regret her hasty decision, which may have been made in her eagerness to get out of CandyLand - to get them both out of CandyLand even if it was only for a few hours. 


	41. Arc 6: CandyLand - Fright Night

Jesse had to go last so he could move the fridge back into place behind them. “Just keep going, but watch out for the hole.”

How was she supposed to watch out for a hole if it was pitch black and she couldn’t see in the dark as well as demons? So Liz scooted sideways, her foot sliding across the floor, probing for an empty space before she fell in it. Beside her was Mateo breathing fast in excited pants like a dog about to go for a walk. To him, this was a rare adventure, but for Liz and Jesse, this was dangerous business. 

If they were caught …it didn’t bear thinking about. The consequences would be too insurmountable to consider. So don’t get caught, and sure as hell don’t break her neck by falling into the damn hole. 

It was a long, long trip in the claustrophobic space with nails and loose wood catching at her clothes and almost scratching her skin. Liz felt something tickle her fingers, and she hoped it was dust or dirt and not some hell bug crawling over her body. 

“Jesse, how much further?” Liz whispered. How long have they been going? They must have gone as far as a football field by now. 

“Just a little more,” Jesse whispered back. “Keep going.”

“Mateo, are you okay?” She touched a thin shoulder, almost touching her side. 

“I’m okay. It’s hot though.”

“We’ll be out soo….oh fuck! I almost fell!” She stood with one foot in the open air as if she failed to perform a jumping jack. 

“We made it!! Just drop down …”

“Jesse… how long is the drop?”

“I never measured it.”

“Is it one or two feet?” She couldn’t see the bottom - couldn’t see anything for that matter.

“Umm… more than that.” There was an uncertainty in Jesse’s voice that unnerved her. 

“How far down?” She demanded in a tone she used when kids were stubborn or disrespectful. 

“Maybe about 15 feet?”

“Oh lord.” She moaned. “I am going to break my neck, aren’t I?”

“It’s not that bad.” Jesse said with a confident air in his youthful voice. 

“I’m not a demon cat, sweetie,” Liz reminded him. 

“What happens if Miss Liz breaks her neck?” Mateo piped up between them. 

“Then Miss Liz is going to need a wheelchair or a coffin,” she replied bitterly. 

“It’s not that bad,” Jesse repeated, but this time lacked his earlier confidence. “If I can get over… okay, everyone scoot back this way. I’m gonna try something.”

They moved back several feet. After a few minutes, Liz could hear loud scratching on the wall. “Jesse, what are you doing?”

“He’s climbing the wall,” Mateo said, impressed. “He’s moving like a spider over our heads. We might need to move over more.” 

Drywall peppered her hair and clothes, and she ducked her head to protect her eyes. Then Jesse lowered himself next to her with a satisfied grunt. “Alright, I’ll go down first and catch you.”

That didn’t sound much better to Liz, but it was the best she could get other than a ladder and a flashlight. “Alright.”

A few minutes later, she was standing at the edge of the hole, gathering up her courage to take a leap of faith. She trusted Jesse, but she didn’t trust her luck, the narrow shaft, or the hard ground waiting for her. 

“It’ll be better if you lower yourself down first and let go at the hands.” Jesse’s voice called up from the dark everlasting pit. 

“Good idea.” Liz had to sit with her hip on the edge and, with Mateo, being smaller, had more maneuverability in the tight space, holding onto her arms. “Ready?”

“Yep!”

She could lower herself down a bit more before taking the plunge. Maybe hang onto the ledge with both hands before letting go. “Okay, Mateo, just let me …” 

“Okay!” The Xolo let go of her hands. 

Then she was tumbling through the darkness. Her back rebounded off a surface, and she scraped a hand across another, then she landed heavily and in one piece in Jesse’s arms. 

“Liz, are you okay?”

“I need to throw up.”

***

So with the sour taste of vomit in her mouth, she crawled behind Jesse as his tail tapped her face. It helped follow him in the dark. There were little slivers of light from above, and this was its most dangerous, he warned them as imps could be walking above them.

“They shouldn’t hear us unless we cough or sneeze,” Jesse explained. 

On the flip side, they could hear everything from above. Every footstep filled their ears, and every word spoken was as if they were in the same room. 

“Drix is pissed,” said a deep voice with a slight accent Liz couldn’t recognize. “Three dime bags isn’t much to lose, is it?”

“It is to Jack.” 

Liz paused to listen. 

“Does he know?”

“No, but he will. Nothing gets past him. He’s a stickler for counting and inventory. When he sees the quota is off, we're gonna do a wide scale search.”

“Fuck.”

Mateo was kneeling beside her, listening intently with eyes that gleamed in the light. Without thinking of it, she drew her arms around him, drawing him close, giving him comfort while drawing some from having his weight next to her. 

“I know who the fucking thief is.” Another voice said this time she recognized it as Zero. “That Satan damned Asher! Zip needs to keep a better eye on that one.”

“It’s Jack’s fault! He let’s Asher get away with too much and if Zip would stop being a pervert he could keep Asher in line!”

“Good luck on that. I swear, when he goes recruiting, he’s actually whore shopping.”

Liz felt a heavyweight drop in her stomach. It was as she suspected. ‘Leo’ was just the latest in a long list of Zip’s victims. 

“One day . . .one day that asshole is gonna take a trip to Ripper.”

“Until then, save your bitchin’.” Zero muttered. “What about the cargo? The Greed Ring doubled their order an hour ago.”

“It’ll be ready in time. We’ll have the kids work double time until the order’s filled.”

Double time? What was double time? They were already working from morning to night already. 

“We got the delivery vans ready?”

“Almost. Van 2034 is having engine trouble.”

“Damn, if you can’t get it fixed by tomorrow, we’ll have to see about getting a new one. We’re gonna need at least five vans to carry the shipment to the train.”

Greed Ring . . .train . . .van trouble. . .she tried to remember everything to discuss it later. Somehow she felt what they were discussing was important, potentially useful later. 

She felt a touch at her elbow, and Jesse was beside her, tugging her along with him. They were taking their chances by staying here too long. As much as Liz wanted to continue eavesdropping, they had other places to be. 

Alastor carried the message they would be leaving CandyLand and needed to be picked up in the D.D. District. After learning her lesson in the P.P. District, Liz was quick to ask what D.D. stood for. 

“Drug Den District,” Jesse said soothingly. “It’s several streets away from CandyLand’s turf and lots of drug dealers go there to sell drugs.”

“Wouldn’t CandyLand have all the business there?” She was concerned they would because selling CandyLand products outside of one of their stores. 

“Not all of it,” Jesse explained. “CandyLand is a popular brand, but there are other drug producers with their own flavors and cuts. And no one cares where you got the drugs as long as it’s good. They’ll just think we mugged some guy and stole the bags. Happens all the time.” 

Liz didn’t see why they had to sell the dime bags. Why not throw them away or flush them down the toilet or leave them on a bench somewhere for some lucky demon? Angel Dust would be more than happy to take them off their hands - if he wasn’t being forced to go clean. But Jesse was pretty excited about it, particularly about getting cash. 

Liz recognized the smell of the sewers and had a flashback to the night Izzy hunted her. 

_ Lizzie …  _

No, he couldn’t possibly know where she was, nor should he have any idea what was going on. However, it was odd he found her so soon after being dropped off by Arackniss and Mr. White, but the asshole probably had contacts or spy cameras hidden like the speakers he hid in the sewers. 

Just before reaching the end of the crawl space, Jesse stopped short of the wall and produced a backpack he had hidden under a pile of loose boards and garbage. Unzipping it, he withdrew his belt of spray cans and slipped it around his waist with the confidence and demeanor of Batman snapping his utility belt in place. Then with a wink at Liz and Mateo, he crawled to a wall and began taking it apart. Bricks had been fitted together to hide the hole. The three of them slid easily out into the sewers. Liz could easily drop down with some minor aid from Jesse.

Though it was smelly, it was cooler and clear of the dust and dirt in the crawl space that clogged her nose and throat. Thirsty and dirty, she longed for water to drink and wash her hands covered in grit and dust. Jesse took time to slow the bricks back into place, covering the hole, and from how the shadows laid across the wall, Liz had a hard time seeing where the hole had once been.

“This way,” Jesse said, leading the way down the labyrinthine sewers. “Man, you would not believe how scared I was when I came down here the first time. I thought a sewer gator was gonna get me.”

Both Liz and Mateo eyed the opaque water with some trepidation until Jesse quickly added, “I haven’t seen anything down here save for those little fly rats. I think it’s too polluted down here for anything else to survive.”

It was a long trek through the sewers, and as before, they sometimes had to crouch beneath low ceilings, twisting around a corner that should lead to a dead end but opened into a cavern instead. 

Jesse chatted animatedly as he led the way. “I got lost so many times! I had to use paint to mark the ways until I finally memorized the way back!”

He stopped at a set of rungs leading up to a manhole cover and grinned like a little kid showing off his treehouse. “Up here!”

Emerging outside into Pentagram City’s open air was akin to returning home and kicking off your shoes. The air wasn’t clean, but it was familiar and didn’t carry the scent of fear, tightly packed bodies, or drugs - well, there was the smell of drugs, but not as strongly. 

It took some coaxing to convince Mateo a monster angel wasn’t going to decapitate his head the moment he stuck it above ground, nor was there a gang of demons waiting to tear him apart. He clung to the rings, almost tearful as they knelt at the manhole to reassure him. 

“I promise it’s safe,” Liz said, feeling a bit of a hypocrite as she had spent a night alone in the city and was almost assaulted multiple times. She firmly told herself,  _ This isn’t the P.P. District. And I’m not alone.  _

Like a nervous rabbit, Mateo poked his head out of the hole and looked around. When nothing came to end him, he climbed out and goggled at the street and sky. He had seen it for a short time after dropping into Hell, but the years under CandyLand’s roof had eroded his memory. 

Trembling, he stayed close to Liz and watched Jesse replace the manhole cover. The cat demon dusted his hands and declared, “Let’s find a street corner!”

***

The street corner Jesse selected was where two rows of shops and stores met. Liz was nervous about potential customers mistaking what services they were offering, but Jesse assuaged her anxiety. 

“The only people who stand on the street corners in D.D. District are the drug dealers.”

Liz knew she could never lead any anti-drug talks or lectures in schools without a clear conscience ever again. Miss Carter was in the mean streets of Hell, packing drugs and selling them. What would the foster kids think if they saw her now?

At first, Jesse was more than happy to play the drug dealer's part and stand on the street looking expectantly at each passing vehicle. Then he got bored and began eyeing a blank wall with an artistic eye. 

“I’m thinking of an overhead view of a koi fish pool?” Jesse asked, tilting his head this way and that, gauging the wall's size with his mental image.

Jesse loved natural water themed imagery from swimming fish or wading water birds. His talent would have netted him a scholarship to an art school. Fuck, Liz thought bitterly, he should be in art school right now or even opening his own gallery with buyers and commissions lined up. It made her sad to see him now, as a cat demon planning a mural in Hell.

Then Jesse got started with two different shades of blue to create the background. Enraptured, Mateo sat on the curb, watching Jesse work. Liz had seen Jesse in action while he was alive, but it amazed her every time to see an artist work as drawing and art was a skill lost on her. 

The sensible part of Liz said they needed to simply head for the Hotel or wait for someone to pick them up. This was wasting time, but Jesse and Mateo were having fun, and it was doubtful they were able to experience much enjoyment in CandyLand. And she didn’t want to be the one to take it from them. 

A car pulled up and honked the horn. Glancing between the car and Jesse, who was in the throes of creative artistry, Liz rose and approached the car, imagining all the way of what the reps of DARE would think if they saw her now. 

She paused in mid-step, staring at the vehicle, which looked suspiciously like a limo she had the misfortune of entering. Barnacles long to the doors like a whale’s body, and tentacles pulsed and twitched over the wheels.

“No,” Liz moaned.

The dark window rolled down, and an oh too familiar green face peered at her with vivid red eyes with green irises. “How much for . . .wait . . .wait . . .” Recognition crawled across Seviathan’s face. “Do I know you?”

“No.” Liz said quickly, voice dipping into Leo’s tone. 

Seviathan sneered. “Yes, I do! You’re the one who popped Dorkon’s cherry for free! Oh, Satan! Dorkon fucked a dude!” 

“No, I’m not a ‘dude’!” Liz hissed. “And I’ll remind you, you were the one all over Angel Dust that night.”

“Yeah, but at least he can pass for a woman and doesn’t look like a dog.”

“If I didn’t think you’d send more thugs after me, I’d tell you how much of a piece of shit you are!” 

“What? Your pal the Radio Demon not around?” His face was fixed in a sneery, but even she could a measure of fear cross behind his eyes. 

“Oh, he’s around,” Liz growled. 

“As fun as it is to hear you trade barbs,” another familiar voice said. Kraken was glaring over Seviathan’s shoulder at her. “What do you have to sell?”

Liz was sorely tempted to tell them to fuck off, but she was the one who wanted to unload the drugs as quickly as possible. “Three dime bags of cocaine. Twenty each.”

Seviathan snorted. “We can get that for fifteen at a CandyLand shop.”

“Then drive your asses to one,” Liz groused. “Look, let’s cut this short so we can get away from each other ASAP. Do you want the dime bags? Yes or no?”

Seviathn glowered at her, but Kraken leaned forward and nodded. “Yes.”

“You can have all three for a hundred.” 

“Whoa! You said twenty each!” Seviathan blurted. 

“I added an asshole tax, asshole,” Liz snapped. “You’re sweating a hundred bucks for blow after offering me several thousand just so you could humiliate your cousin?”

“You little bitch,” Seviathan started but was cut off. 

“Just give her the damn money, Sea,” Kraken moaned. “I don’t want to be out here all night!”

“Fine!” Seviathan glared as if he could wish her to death on the spot. “Show me the drugs.”

“Show me the cash!”

Seviathan held up a handful of twenties, and she presented the three sealed bags. After a brief moment of eyeing each other and daring the other to attempt to swindle the other, they carried out the exchange in fast coordination. Liz stepped back with the money, and Seviathan had the baggies. 

The Von Eldritch looked her over, “Didn’t you used to be blue?”

“I am blue,” Liz retorted. “The cocaine must be rotting your brains.” 

Unable to think of a better insult, Seviathan settled for the tried and true, “Whatever, whore.”

“Uh-uh, not a whore, remember?” Liz said as sweetly as rancid milk. “Or did I throw the money at your head harder than I thought?”

Before Seviathan could think up a proper rejoiner, Kraken, having enough of the verbal barrage, stomped the gas pedal, and Von Eldritch almost brained himself against the side of the open window. Liz waved at them with her middle finger raised as she headed for where Jesse was making headway into his mural. 

Now he was creating two orange and white crescents he was molding into feeding koi fish. His wrists flicked, and hands moved with expert precision as he applied just the right amount of paint and color to create shading and dimension. 

“I got the money,” Liz said, hating to bring an early end to his painting. “I netted a hundred dollars.”

“A hundred dollars!?” Mateo’s eyes almost bugged out of his head as he starred in utter reverence of the twenties in her hand. “We’re rich!”

As she was being amused by a presumption of his childish naivety of money, Liz reminded herself he harkened from the days of America’s Great Depression - when a mere hundred dollars held the value of 1500 dollars. She didn’t have it in her heart to correct him, and nor did Jesse, who gave his half-finished mural a wistful look before holstering his paint cans. 

“Let’s get something to eat. There’s a fast food place a block away.”

“It’s not … cannibal food is it?” Liz felt she had to ask. 

“Oh no!” Jesse shook his head. “But you do have to tell them to hold the special sauce. It has a pot as an ingredient. And no brownies either.”

***

Charlie’s Devils was the name of the fast-food restaurant which lauded three demonesses in rollerblades wielding guns and fast food with sex appeal oozing from their voluptuous figures. Liz thought it was a Hooters until they went inside. 

A tired cashier took their orders, two large combo meals, and a salad bowl. Liz realized she had not been mindful of what she ate since her arrival in Hell. She had eaten whatever Marty had provided, comfort food at the Hotel, and the gross rations of Candyland. Granted, after everything Liz has been through, she had actually lost weight as a result, it wouldn’t behoove to make a healthy choice. And it guaranteed she wasn’t eating cannibal food. 

The cashier gave them suspicious looks, which Liz couldn’t fault him as the three of them look like scraggy ragamuffins. To eat in peace, they went outside and found a quiet place at the steps of an abandoned building, a stable of any area affected with drugs and crime, which could be a drug den for addicts for all they knew.

When Liz handed Mateo his bag and drink, he looked inside, then up at her, confused. “All for me?”

“Yeah, hon, it’s a combo meal. You get a sandwich, fries, and a drink.” Again, she had to remind herself Mateo came from when getting food wasn’t as simple as strolling to the nearest restaurant or store. 

The cat and Xolo demons inhaled their food while Liz suspected if she hadn’t gotten a salad, she would have to defend her food like a starving yard dog. 

While eating, she thought about Dagon. He hadn’t been in the car with his brother or cousin. Maybe he had taken her advice and cut ties with the toxic members of his family. He had been a sweet young man, a bit inexperienced socially, especially with the opposite sex, but had been eager to learn. Liz wished she had asked about him, but likely it would have baited Seviathan into insulting her.

Yawning, she realized how late it was and regretted not getting coffee too. As she contemplated going back inside the restaurant to order a cup from the corner of her eye, she spied a red limo going by.

In a panic reflex, she pulled her hood down over her eyes and turned away, her heart racing. Surely, it couldn’t be the same limo, could it? Red would have to be a popular color in Hell. The limo didn’t slow down, going around the corner and then out of sight. 

It wasn’t him, not Valentino, the miniacious figure she had heard of a handful of times but never had a chance to meet . . .something she hoped would never ever happen. 

What if it was him? What if he came back?

“Boys, let’s wait somewhere else.”

“What? Why?” Jesse was eyeing another wall as a potential mural. 

“We’re drawing too much attention. What if . . .what if someone from CandyLand drives by and sees us?” She should be honest, but to tell them she could potentially be targeted by a pimp was . . .humiliating, and they didn’t need to know. “Jesse, do you know of another place we can wait? Somewhere there’s less traffic?”

“Well, um, I think so. There’s ruined buildings a few blocks down thatta way,” Jesse pointed. “I think it's Weed St.”

“Alright, I’ll relay the message to Alastor once he checks in with me. Let’s go.”

As they left, she looked out for any more red limos, real or imaginary. Perhaps she had been mistaken. Maybe it hadn’t been a limo at all, but a red car. They would be popular down in Hell, wouldn’t they? 

***

Mateo stayed close to her, taking in the sights and smells of Hell and Pentagram City with astonishment and wonder. How many years had he been in the cramp halls of CandyLand with the imps breathing down his neck with the threat of separation from his brother? Even if this was just a stroll, it must seem like an adventure to him. 

More than once, she had to take him by the hand to keep him from walking off. “Stay with us.”

“But where’s the fire? And why aren’t they torturing people?”

Even she could see the irony in how she, a still living human, knew more about Hell than a demon who’s been there for almost a century. “I was surprised too.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be punished for being bad people?”

“I . . .I don’t know. I think losing your humanity and being put in a place you’re unfamiliar with isn’t really fun?” It was still something she was still confused about despite Charlie explaining Hell was other people. “Mateo, is it alright if I ask you how you died?”

Mateo’s ears dipped slightly in memory. “It was my fault. We were doing construction work for this guy and he said we could stay in his house for the night. But then he changed his mind and said we had to leave. I don’t know why, but Diego didn’t seem mad about it and said it was no big deal. He told me to stay at the bus stop while he collected our wages and I was waiting a long, long time for him. So I went back to the house to look for him, but it was empty with a funny smell. Then there was . . .” 

Mateo paused, his nose wrinkling as he concentrated and ears laid back. “Fire. Lots of fire. I was in our old room, but the window wouldn’t open. Diego was there and . . .I couldn’t breathe . . .then we were . . .down here.” Giving himself a shake, like a dog who had tasted something funny. “The imps drove up, like the men who came by when they needed workers, and we went with them to CandyLand.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you and Diego,” Liz said gently. “It must have been scary.”

“It was a long time ago,” Mateo shrugged. “Sometimes. . . I have bad dreams about it.”

“It’s alright to have bad dreams. It was something frightening, a bad time in your life . . .” Actually, it was the end of his life. He died in that fire, and she hoped to God it was from smoke inhalation and not burning to death. “Charlie, she’s the Princess of Hell, wants to use her Hotel to help people go to Heaven.”

“We . . .we can go to Heaven?” 

It was hard enough to convince Diego and Greta the Hotel was safe. Liz feared, like the rest of Hell, they would scoff at the idea of redemption. However, from the light of hope in Mateo’s eyes, Liz realized that maybe she should have led with that instead. However, Mateo was younger than Diego and Greta and had a childlike innocence CandyLand, or Hell, had yet to turn to jade. 

“The Princess believes it's possible. A friend and my father are there as guests.”

_ No need for him to know that I sighed my dad up while he’s unconscious in a coma.  _

“Would God let us go to Heaven? I thought Sinners went to Hell for Eternity.” 

“Well, you and I both thought there was fire and brimstone down here. But look around, we were wrong.”

_ Did that mean Heaven wasn’t exactly the land of Milk and Honey?  _

She pointed up at the sky, where the small gibbous orb glowed like a small snowflake above the ominous pentagram. “It's up there. Charlie showed it to me one night. Like the moon. People didn’t think it was ever possible to go to the moon until Neil Armstrong walked on it.”

Mateo gawped between her and the moonly Heaven. “People went to the moon!?!?”

“Oh . . .right, you missed out on a lot being down here.”

***

“Okay, we’re going to cut through here,” Jesse said, stopping at an alley. 

“Why? You said Weed St. is down that way.” She pointed down the street, which was empty. While that didn’t mean the street was safe, it was at least a direct path to their destination and after going into an alley to come across a hooker and her john in the middle of an exchange wasn’t an experience she wished to repeat.

“Yeah, but . . .I don’t go down that way.”

“Why not?”

“The electronic store is down that way.”

She waited for him to elaborate on why that would be dangerous for them, but Jesse headed into the alley. Sighing, she followed him down the alley with Mateo close behind her. Thankfully, there were no coupling demons, but there were more of those fly rats who twitched their tubular mouths at them before dashing off into the shadows and behind trash bins.

After Jesse’s detour, they headed up the other side of the street and across to put them away from the store’s Jesse feared. Had something happened to him there? Was there a threat there? Perhaps a dangerous demon.

“Aw, shit. They moved the store . . .”

Another electronics store stood at the end of the street, but the front windows were shattered and broken, likely from a robbery. The power was still on, and the discarded televisions play infomercials and ads on loop. Jesse paused several yards, and even Mateo looked dismayed. 

“Wait . . .is this because of the tvs!?” 

“Fizzarolli says . . .” Mateo whimpered.

“That clown is just an actor paid to tell you a pack of lies,” Liz said, taking his hand and Jesse’s, determined not to let CandyLand’s propaganda delay them again. “I promise nothing is going to happen to us for walking by.”

They weren’t happy about it but didn’t resist being pulled along like pesky kids at a store. Their shoes crunched the broken bits of glass that glowed and glinted in the luminous tv screens. They were on the same loop of advertisements which mostly consisted of the tv headed fellow Liz has seen countless times in her time in Hell.

Wearing a black suit with neon blue pinstripes with a red and black striped undershirt. A bright red bowtie cinched beneath a neck supporting a flat screen tv head. Most eye-catching was the face with large red eyes, one larger than the other, which brightened in delight as he spoke in a salesman's voice about the products - Vloops, Vogitech, and vPhone. There was something about the voice . . .it was modulated with strange vocals as the tone in high and low pitches as it changed octaves - but familiar somehow. It was strange, almost reassuring in a way she found odd coming from such a source.

The boys were actually cringing from the TVs, Jesse moving to walk on Mateo’s other side to separate himself from the televisions as much as possible. Liz refused to change her path one bit in a show there was nothing to be afraid of. This was ridiculous of how CandyLand would feed them such lies about televisions and why!? What did Jack have against T.V.s? 

Third world dictatorships outlawed T.V.s and radios to control the information and ideology of the population. Did the fear mongering make it so the kids wouldn’t want any electronic devices? But why when most of the kids died long before the days of devices and the internet, and they keep them so secluded from the rest of Hell? It seemed a bit overdramatic. 

Every hair on her body stood on end as the air felt charged, like the moments before electricity struck. She looked up at the sky and didn’t see a cloud diminishing the vibrant red sky. 

**_Oh-Ox-ohhhhhh, Lizzie . . . ._ **

That couldn’t be her name . . .it had to be static from the television, a disrupted signal messing with the sound. Mateo stopped so suddenly, Liz was jolted when her arm stretched with his. 

“Mateo?” 

“Liz . . .he’s looking at us,” Mateo whispered, 

“What? Where?” Had the red limo pulled up? A CandyLand van? God, she was expecting Izzy to stroll around the corner. 

“The tv man.”

For the first time, Liz realized the advertisement had stopped playing their chimes and incessant chattering. It had gone silent save for spurts of static. Turning to face the electronic store's broken interior, she saw the tv headed demon standing on each of the screens staring straight at the camera with a grin akin to maliciousness and amusement. 

_ Why isn’t he talking? Is this a PSA? He’s just standing there and looking at the camera.  _

Jesse stepped beside her, and Liz gasped, her heart skipping a beat as her blood turned cold. The tv man’s eyes had switched to Jesse and then back to her. He was  _ looking at them! _

With her throat tight, she squeezed Mateo’s wrist and pulled him along. “Let’s go. He . . .he can’t hurt us . . .”

**_Can’t I?_ **

The T.V. man's head tilted in a questioning angle. Then he blipped off the other screens until he was only in a sizeable 100-inch television left in place at the main display, likely being too heavy for the looters to make off with. Raising both hands, each tipped in neon blades, he made a stop motion . . . at least that was what Liz thought he was doing until his palms pressed against the interior of the television screen and it began to  _ stretch outward! _

It was as if the screen had become plastic wrap static rippling across the screen and small branches of electricity crackled at the edges. Then the tips of his claws cut through the screen and slowly grew longer as they emerged on their side of it. 

It was such a moment of surreality that Liz stood motionless, staring in amazement and horror. She had seen some strange things in Hell, but this was the most impossible thing she could imagine happening, like something from a film or a dream.

With both paint cans on full blast, Jesse shot forward and sprayed the screen over the tv man’s face. The man looked astonished moments before his face was covered in black and blue paint, and his claws retracted as Jesse desperately covered the screen with expert swishes of his hand. 

_ Oh, so . . .that’s why CandyLand has a thing against televisions . . .and why they paint over the screens . . .  _

Another screen blipped, a large screen television and the tv man was glaring at them. Jesse was quick to paint over that screen too. And again, when another screen hosted the pinstripe suited figure.

“Mateo! Liz! Grab a can from my belt and help!” Jesse shouted. “Paint over all the screens!”

Mateo acted first before Liz, snatching a can of white paint from Jesse’s belt and bounded over to a screen laying face up on the pavement. Liz did the same and, in a mad panic, scrawled a line of red paint over another tv screen until it was covered and moved onto the next. Whenever the T.V. man popped up in a tv she was painting over, she yelped, quickly covered his face so she couldn’t see him or him see her. 

_ People will think we’re the ones who broke into this store just to paint the TVs like mad loons.  _

She missed painting over the corner of a screen and regretted it instantly when a hand with neon finger blades seized her arm and pulled it through the hole. Shrieking, she pulled with all her might, but her cheekbone hit the corner edge of the screen. Was he trying to pull her through the hole!? Could he do that!?

Hands grabbed her and hauled her up. Mateo was mumbling something under his breath in Spanish while Jesse uttered foul curses, his feet braced apart and pulling her upward. Inch by inch, her arm withdrew by force from the screen until the finger bladed hand wrapped around her forearm emerged.

Mateo bent forward and savagely tore into the wrist with his teeth like a dog. Static sputtered amid modulated swears, and the hand opened, releasing her. The three of them fell back, got to their feet, and ran for their lives. A single angry red eye peered after them from the corner of the screen.

By the time they stopped, by the time they had run so fast and so far, they were gasping for breath, struggling to breathe.

Liz’s heart pounded as if she had finished running a 10k at full sprint, and she believed she was close to having some sort of heart failure. When she was able to get her breathing under control, she noticed something in her hand.

Laying in her open palm was a bright red bowtie. 


	42. Arc 6 CandyLand - Fright Night 2

The wall was hard and cold against her back. Taking slow deep breaths through her nose and out her mouth, she restored the oxygen to her blood and cleared her head. In her fist was the red bowtie she held like a talisman against the TV man . . .or whatever the fuck that was. 

So many questions arose with no answers in sight.

How did he know her name? Why attack him? 

No, it wasn’t them . . .it was her. He had said her name, been looking at her, and grabbed her. Why!? Did he see through the disguise? 

Jesse sat beside her with his hands hanging loosely off his knees while Mateo leaned against her shoulder on the other side. There was no telling how far they ran or in what direction as they had dashed in such a mad panic. Now there was no telling where they were, and until Alastor checked in with her, no way of letting their ride know where to collect them. 

“Jesse . . .do you have any idea . . .” Liz began.

“No idea. I thought all that guy did was sell stuff on tv,” Jesse panted as he brushed sweat from his fur above his eyes. “I always knew TVs were bad, but damn!”

Poor Mateo was still shaking. So much for convincing him of Hell not being as dangerous as CandyLand preached. She expected him to beg to go back to CandyLand but was relieved when she stood up and told him they had to keep moving. He got to his feet and followed them wordlessly. 

Liz wanted to talk to him but feared smothering him. Sometimes people needed time to process trauma before opening up about it. She would be close by if he wanted to talk or vent. 

Even made of weightless cloth, the red bow tie felt as heavy as a brick in her pocket. She must have pulled it off the TV man’s throat when he had her arm. Her skin still crawled where he had grabbed her, the finger blades pricking through the sleeve. What would have happened if Jesse hadn’t reacted so quickly? Or if the tv screen hadn’t been mostly painted over when she was grabbed? Would she have been pulled through into some unknown fate?

Something clicked together in her head, which set her teeth on edge. Glancing up at the rooftops for any familiar cycloptic eyes as her mind worked at top speed—the how made more sense, but not the why quite yet. However, if she was correct, they needed to get off the streets as soon as possible. 

“Jesse, is there a safe place we hide?”

“Hide!?” Jesse looked frantically down the street as if the TV man was running after them. When he didn’t see any impending threat, he shrugged. “I guess I could find us a place. Why?”

“Remember the White Demon? I think he’s on his way right now.”

“What? Why!?”

“I hope I’m wrong, but I think we just met his client.” 

“The TV guy?”

“The TV Demon. I’ll explain once we’re hidden because right now the bastard could be watching us through a rifle scope,” Liz said, remembering Marty’s words from a long time ago after the television and radio had a spat. 

_ The TV Demon and Radio Demon are at each other again. Rumor has it that Vox has a thing for Alastor, so he pulls this shit to get a rise out of 'im. Kinda like a kid pulling a girl's pigtails. _

And then, during her stroll with Alastor, the Radio Demon himself, all the TVs in the store were giving him the finger. 

_ Don’t stare, Elisa. He craves the attention. _

And CandyLand’s painting over the tv screens made so much sense now and their prohibition against electronics. Liz was willing to believe it wasn’t just televisions Vox could spy through or crawl out of. 

_ And what were Dad and I doing before Izzy came along? Watching TV on the couch all day. And I wasn’t wearing a disguise when Vox saw me. How else would Izzy know I was human, where I was, and the best time to go in and grab me!  _

And the last time Izzy attacked her, did she walk by any electronic stores? Maybe Vox saw her through the window of an indoor television and alerted the bounty Hunter? And just now, Vox likely decided to take matters into his own hands and grab her off the street! 

If he could come out of a television set, why bother hiring Izzy? Why didn’t he grab her himself? It wasn’t a matter of strength, as it took the three of them and Mateo’s teeth to free her of his powerful grip. And being that he was Alastor’s rival, then he should easily overpower her. 

She reached into her pocket and squeezed the silk as if it could provide answers. However, the one she really needed answers from was Alastor, but until she could have a chat with him, the priority was getting a safe hiding spot. 

A guilty part of her pointed out the elephant in the room. Being around her was dangerous for Jesse and Mateo. Izzy had stabbed Marty with the angel knife he had claimed for himself and likely had a grudge against Jesse for his part in rescuing Liz from him. Poor Mateo already had the wits scared out of him by their encounter with Vox.

She had a horrible vision of them lying in the street dead, and for it to happen because of her would be unbearable. 

“Jesse,” she began. 

“We’re not separating,” Jesse said without looking back at her. “I know what you’re gonna say and I say we’re sticking together.”

“Izzy is dangerous …”. She had to make him see reason. 

“You think I don’t know that?” Jesse finally looked back at her, his ears folded sideways. “And you think Mateo and I aren’t used to danger hovering around us? Or being hurt?”

He craned his head to look back at the Xolo. “Mattie, how many times have you lost a finger or broke a bone working in the green houses?”

“Oh, I do that all the time!” Mateo said, some of his spirit returning. “One time Diego lost an arm in a mulcher!”

Shocked, Liz stopped walking and whipped around to face Mateo. “It’s that dangerous!?”

“You never did farm work?” Mateo asked with a curious head tilt. 

“Well, no, but doesn’t it hurt to lose a finger?”

“Yeah, but I’m used to it. I don’t like it when it happens, but they grow back.”

Liz saw what Jesse was getting at now. She was weak, still living human trying to treat them as normal human kids when they were far from it. She was the one in danger with her less than stellar healing ability and susceptible to any and all damage. 

“Alright . . .” she sighed. “We stay together, just do not get killed on my part. Okay?”

Jesse declared there were abandoned buildings down the way they could hide in until someone picked them up. Yet, how many hours have they spent escaping CandyLand, getting food, and then running away from Vox? How long before they had to return to CandyLand, and would they return in time? She had to trust Jesse’s judgment; he was the one who’s been slipping out of CandyLand for years. 

There was a hum of an engine behind them. Liz glanced back, hoping it was the white Magne limo, but her heart stopped when it was crimson instead. She turned around, pulled her hood down over her eyes, and walked with her back straight. 

Moving up between Jesse and Mateo, she whispered, “Just keep walking.”

“What?” Jesse said, glancing at her.

“Don’t look at me. Don’t look behind us. Just keep looking forward.” 

God, she hoped she was overreacting, and it was nothing. Red had to be a popular color for vehicles or limos. Chances are the limo will keep going forward, not even taking any notice of them or her. It likely wasn’t Valentino in the limo, and if it was . . .he can’t recognize her. He only saw her once in PP District with only a cravat covering her face, and the second time at a distance when she was glammed up. This time, she was just a young man hanging out with his friends after hours. Nothing to see here, nothing to draw the interest of a pimp. Nothing at all. 

And the limo went past. There was a white heart on the trunk, and the license plate was bright red with Val stencil on it. The wind gusted around their legs in the limo’s passing, and it gave Liz a relieved exhilaration of how paranoid she was being.

The limo slowed at the end of the street and stopped. 

_ It’s going to take the turn. Just like last time, it’s going to turn. _

It was reversing.

_ No, it only seems that way because we’re walking towards it. _

The reverse lights were glowing bright like the eyes of a predator at night as it drew close. 

“Liz . . .” Jesse said, glancing around. “Should we hide?”

“Where?” 

“I don’t know. There’s no alleys on this street and I don’t see a manhole . . .” To his credit, he didn’t look around or seemed afraid. If anything, he looked more like a teenager just walking and chatting with a friend. “If we run . . .well, I’ve seen those limos plow through demons like a lawn mower over weeds.”

“Let’s . . .let’s play it cool for now. It may be nothing at all.” 

When had she ever been that lucky?

Unconsciously, she and Jesse maneuvered Mateo away from the road, putting themselves between him and the road. They were of the same mind to protect him as he was youngest (in a way) and least experienced with Pentagram City. 

Liz could hear the music reverberating from within the limo as they drew closer. It carried a heavy bass with nonsensical lyrics though she can make out a 'bitch’ or ‘baby.’ It amazed her how music like this could switch between endearments and insults within a few lyrics. 

The window rolled down, releasing the strident music amid a chime of feminine giggles. A stream of fragrant red smoke curled from the open window like vapor from a lavious hot bath. “Hi, baby, you want a ride?”

He wasn’t talking to Mateo or Jesse. Though she wouldn’t look to see who he was directing the question, she knew it was for her and her alone. Bad memories rose up like stabs of pain in an old wound.

_ Been watching you, cutie. _

_ I can make you cum for thirty bucks, baby. _

_ C'mon, we can give ya a ride home. _

“No. I’m good.” She said it more sharply than she intended, hoping Jesse and Mateo would let her handle this. In fact, she was moving from the curb, remembering all too well the extended arm trying to pull her into a vehicle. 

“No need t’ be scared, sugar. Not gonna hurt ya,” the voice spoke in a rich purr, low and rough. Hearing it was like experiencing soft fur being dragged over her body. It was not an unpleasant sensation. “Haven’t I seen ya before?”

“No, you have not.” She spoke in a firm tone as a means to bring the conversation to a hard stop. 

_ I’m not interesting. I’m just a scruffy teenage boy. Not worth your time at all.  _

“Yes, I have.” He replied, enunciating each word as she had. “P.P.District. You were a scared little thing. Offered ya a ride then too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

The limo tire whispered on the asphalt as it followed, keeping the window aligned with Liz. The driver either had some skill, or it was a Hellish thing that allowed hecklers and johns to conveniently harass people on the street. They were halfway to the end of the street. If they took off, would they make it? Would the limo turning give them enough of a head start to duck into an alley? Was there an alley they could flee into? 

“You said somethin’ interestin’ that night. Somethin’ about workin’ for Valentino?”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Ya sure? She looked a lot like you.”

“I’m a boy.”

There was a rough snort. “And what kinda boy talks like a fuckin’ school teacher and eats salad instead of a burger?”

So it had been him before, and he had noticed her when he went by. Had he been looking for her, or was this coincidence? “What I do or how I talk has nothing to do with you.”

There was an unpleasant sound from the limo, and the giggling stopped instantly. It was akin to gamboling rabbits suddenly taking flight into a burrow at the presence of a predator. 

There was a lack of amusement in the voice now. “It was you on PP District.”

“No. It wasn’t.”

“Oh, I think differently.”

“I have never been to PP District.”

“Deny, deny till the day you die, eh? Oh well, stop and lemme get a look at ya.”

“No.”

Again, there was that frightening sound, and she didn’t dare look to see its source. The music was lowered to a dull background hum, and tension tightened her arms and shoulders as she realized the line she was crossing with him. He wasn’t accustomed to being rebuffed and didn’t like it at all. 

They were a quarter of the way to the corner now. If they took off now, the limo could quickly jump the corner and cut them off. Right now, Valentino was keeping the exchange friendly, but how much more can she continue rejecting him before he decided to become forceful. Would he become forceful? Or just drive away? Was she overplaying her hand? Maybe she had to give him ‘something’ to appease him until they hit the corner or keep him busy talking.

“Hypothetically, if it was me - which it was not - why would it matter?”

“Oh, using big words, are we?” The voice chuckled, losing some of its edge to mirth. “Well, hy-po-theically,” he toyed with the word like a child with a loaded gun. “You said you worked for me when you didn’t. I’d know if I had a  _ cutie _ like you workin’ for me.”

It was how he used the word cutie that sent a piece of ice down her back.

_ Been watching you, cutie _ . 

Did he know about what had almost happened to her? Would he have found out? Or was it all in her head? Gasping at shadows and seeing meaning in casual words when there was none?

Her eyes darted to the limo and saw the spiteful, knowing pink grin with a gleaming gold tooth. __ Angel Dust’s voice floated up from a pool of memory _. Val's name ain't taken lightly in that district. _

Her reaction had confirmed his suspicion. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple and cheek. How much further? And what was Jesse fumbling with inside his pocket?

“You need protection, sugar,” Valentino crooned. “Hell is a dangerous place, especially for precious little things like you. I can keep you safe from all the nasty things down there.”

A jumble of images went through her head: Lirkin Mill robots, IMP, Seviathan, Vox, Izzy, Zip, and the demon with pale eyes. 

Red smoke cooled about her head and inhaled through her nose. The sweet scent made her lightheaded, and a part of her believed him. Valentino would keep her safe. He wouldn’t let anything hurt her.

“You need a Daddy, sugar.”

Then her mind flashed to Marty: fighting the Lirkin robots, driving up behind the Von Eldritch manor as thugs fled the Radio Demon, and fighting Izzy in the apartment. It was a shock as if cold water splashed in her face to awaken her from a deep sleep. 

“I already have a father, thank you,” she said firmly. 

There was a chuckle, but it was dry and lacked amusement. “Playing hard t’ get is cute till it pisses me off.”

They were nearing the corner, and Jesse was feigning, scratching his nose while motioning Mateo out of the way. Whatever he was about to do, it was now. 

“Not my intention to piss you off, but I already have protection.”

“Think fast!”

Jesse wound up and threw the small chalk bomb he had cupped in his like a fastball pitch. The blue ball darted like a missile passed a startled Valentino and impacted the closed opposite window like a meteor with the same devastating results. Blue smoke exploded like a bomb, instantly filling the limo, lending to the started and confused shrieks and curses from within. 

Long before the smoke would clear and reveal a fuming Valentino with blue chalk stains on his coat and neck ruff, Mateo, Jesse, and Liz were gone.

***

Izzy was pissed. 

Vox wouldn’t have learned about the target’s location unless he used his contacts to scan his phone for text messages. Shard’s message had stated the sheila was leaving CandyLand for the DD District and Izzy knows he didn’t relay this bit of information to the bastard. Now his prey was spooked and on guard after the client tried to take matters into his own claws.

The phone continued buzzing, magnifying Izzy’s irritation to the point he was scraping the angel knife, the same one he had stabbed Marty with, against the parapet he was sitting on. 

_ Pick up the fucking phone, you goddamn wanker.  _

Finally, the phone connected, and Vox’s voice echoed over the line. “Izzy, to what do I owe this …”

“Don’t take the piss outta me, you fuck.” Izzy’s rasped into the phone, fingers gripping it tight enough to almost crack the case. “Why fucking hired me if you’re gonna do the the job yourself!?”

“Oh, you’re still interested in the job? I thought you gave up since you still haven’t brought her to me.”

“Don’t fuck with me. I already explained this job has complications . . .”

“Because you can’t handle a goddamn human!”

“Are you still putting up the money or not?” Izzy didn’t have time to argue the issue. “Your ex was just sniffing around her.”

“Fuck . . . he doesn’t know about her, does he?”

“I don’t think so. Tried to pick her up like she’s some hungry stray so I doubt she’d have gotten away from him so easy if he knew.”

“He’s desperate to fill his ranks.” After a few moments of thought, Vox said, “Alright, the job is still on . . .”

“Two things,” Izzy stood and pocketed the knife. “No interference. After your stunt, she’s on guard and I can’t take her by surprise now!” 

“Fine,” the modded voice whined like a tv, losing audio.

“And my price has gone up.”

“What!? Again!?”

“Yes, you made my job harder and now another Overlord is interested in her. That’s the Magne Family and Valentino I have to fucking dodge. Your little sheila is becoming quite popular . . .maybe if I tell Valentino he might . . .”

“Name your fucking price and bring her to me, you Aussie asshole.”


	43. Arc 6 CandyLand - Safe for Now

When Liz crawled into the backseat of Arackniss’s car, she fell asleep. The dark-furred spider was the most beautiful thing she ever saw sitting in the passenger seat of the dark car driven by Mr. White. If she had the energy, she would have kissed them, but she mutely got inside and let Jesse do the explanation as she leaned her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. 

When she woke up, they were parked in front of the hotel, and Mateo was sleeping with his head on her lap, and Jesse’s head was on her shoulder. It panged her to wake them as they had a rough night of fear and running. Her legs were sore, and her lower back ached, and all she wanted to do was have a long lie down. 

Instantly, she was swept up into a tight embrace by Charlie, and it felt good to be held after the night she experienced. Tears pricked her eyes, and she rubbed them on a sleeve, hoping no one would notice. 

“Are you alright, Liz!?” Charlie exclaimed, drawing her to a table to sit. “We were so worried. I barely slept thinking about what could happen to you in there.”

“No need to worry too much,” Liz said. “It’s pretty much boring routine work. Wake up, eat, work for eight hours straight, eat, sleep and repeat the next day.”

Mateo was staring wide-eyed at the hotel’s lobby in wonder. He hovered close to her side and laid a hand on his shoulder; she said, “Charlie, could you show Mateo around? He came from CandyLand to see the Hotel for himself.”

Taking the cue, Charlie led Mateo away by the hand towards the kitchen. Knowing Mateo was in good hands, Liz turned her attention to Arackniss, and Mr. White knew they didn’t have much time before they had to return to CandyLand, and there was much to discuss.

***

For the next hour, Liz updated them on CandyLand’s inner workings, which unfortunately didn’t fill in any more of their map of CandyLand. However, she had better insight than Jesse could offer. 

“When you go in, the only threats I can see are from the imps. The kids aren’t fighters, but you may be dealing with a panicked mob that will get in the way.” She shot Arackniss a firm look, silently reminding him of her deal with Henroin of not harming the workers.

“Get them out of the way,” He replied with a shrug. 

“I’ll work on that,” Liz sighed, trying to figure out a way in. The populace was controlled by fear of the outside world and of Asher and his goons. What could she do to turn them around to her side? She allowed Mateo to come along in the hopes his experiences beyond CandyLand’s walls would open his eyes, but feared after being chased by the TV Demon and menaced by Valentino may have reinforced what that damn clown Fizzarolli had been teaching him for decades with those tapes.

Then Jesse covered how they could go in and out of CandyLand, but didn’t hold much promise. The crawl space and narrow walls made it almost impossible for larger fighters to get in unnoticed.

“We were literally crawling under their feet,” Liz sighed. “It won’t take them long to figure out which way you’re coming in from.”

“So why not overwhelm them with Egg Bois,” Mr. White suggested. He was reclined in his seat, feet propped up on the edge of the table. 

Angel Dust offered a dry laugh, “Maybe if they were fighting kindergartens with playschool toys! Cherri Bomb and I wasted a mob of those losers after the last Extermination.”

“Alright, maybe not Egg Bois, but what if Liz and Jesse smuggled in bombs?” 

Both Liz and Jesse shook their heads, and she explained, “We have no where we could hide them. They are so paranoid about any thief of products, I think they search rooms while we’re at work.” 

“And I’m no bomb expert,” Jesse added. “We have to do a lot of crawling and climbing to get back into CandyLand. I’m afraid the bombs will go off while we’re carrying them.” 

“And even if we could get them inside, where would we put them?” Liz pointed out. “The dorms? The work areas? And get those kids blown up too? No.” 

“Liz, you keep callin’ them kids, but they’re demons,” Arackniss retorted. “They’ll survive an explosion.”

“No, we’re not doing that,” Liz shook her head. “We do that and we’re no better than the imps.”

“Imps, Sinners, we’re all demons,” Mr. White sighed, setting his feet on the floor. “We aren’t much better than them to begin with.” 

Rubbing her temples, she moaned. After three days, three miserable days of working a mind rotting job, being harassed by imps and Zip, and then after tonight, she had nothing to offer them!? Nothing!? It had all been a waste!?

Should she call it quits and go in one last time to convince Diego and Greta to come with them? And forsake the others? 

_ You can’t save them all, dear heart.  _ That’s what a mentor in social work had explained to her after one heartbreaking case when a teenage boy refused to leave the home of his alcoholic mother.  _ Focus on the ones you can save and pray for the rest. _

Then a spark, a moment of insight, brought forward a question. “Jesse, do the imps sometimes have workers help them out? Let’s say with engine trouble?”

“Yeah, I think so. Diego is pretty good with cars and vehicles.”

Then she raised her eyes to Mr. White. “Do you know where they get their vans? Where do they buy them from?”

“There’s a lot just at the edge of the D.D. District they occasionally get a van from. Why? Whatcha got cookin’?”

“While we were leaving CandyLand, we overheard the imps talking about a big order they have coming up,” Liz said slowly, her mind racing. “One of their vans is having engine trouble. What if . . .what if they need to get a new van?”

A smile stretched across Mr. White’s pristine face. “A van that already has the explosives in it. That’s all fine and dandy, but how would you move the bombs?”

“Let me worry about that. We need a radio. I know we can get a signal from within CandyLand, but Jesse can hide in the crawl space and use it when he sneaks out. It’s better to have two sources of communication than one.” Rising, she set aside the coffee mug and pinched the bridge of her nose, condemning herself for her plan. “As soon as I know something I’ll let Alastor know or Jesse will. I have to go talk to Alastor and see my Dad.”

***

Alastor was sitting in a tea room enjoying a cup of tea when Liz came inside. Wordlessly she sat across from him, eyeing him wearily. He took a delicate sip of his tea and set it down on the saucer with a slight click of china. “Yes, Elisa?”

“Vox,” A tremor went through the Radio Demon at the name, and she felt some satisfaction from that, but a sense of dread overclouded it. “I had a not so fun run in with him earlier tonight. He tried to drag me into a tv.”

“And seeing as you are here, he didn’t succeed.”

“No, he didn’t,” Liz touched her arm where she could still feel the powerful grip and finger blades pricking the sleeve. “And I have good reason to believe he’s the one who hired Izzy to come after me.”

She watched his reaction, his face which maintained its perpetual grin, but there was a clouding behind the eyes. This news displeased him, and Liz wasn’t certain if this scared her or gave her some small relief that he could be rattled. “Did you know about this?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you know why he’s after me?”

“I cannot guess the intentions of that pompous ass.” 

Now, this really surprised her. She couldn’t recall Alastor ever swearing in her presence. She didn’t think he ever used foul language. “Tell me about him.”

“What is there to tell? He’s the Media Mogul of Pentagram City whose so in love with himself he plasters his visage all over the city through his incessant advertisements.”

“Aren’t you his rival? I heard you and he have some sort of feud or rivalry going on.”

Alastor gave a dry laugh. “Only in his imagination. The cretin’s been an upstart since he tumbled down here like someone’s discarded hanky.”

“Alright, so you have no control or influence over his actions?” She crossed her arms, eyeing him with no small amount of skepticism as she had this feeling that Alastor may be involved - maybe not directly, but somehow someway, he was.

“My dear, I assure you, Pentagram City would be a different place if I did.”

“Can you send him a message?”

Alastor’s dark brows rose into mirthful arches. “I could. What’s the message?” 

Liz pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling tired, angry, and scared. “Would telling him to fuck off and leave me alone convince him to call off Izzy?”

Chuckling, the Radio Demon shook his head. “Actually, my dear, that would only stoke his desire to have you all the more.”

Liz supposed it wouldn’t be that easy in the first place. Shaking her head, she said, “Nevermind. Is there anything you do to protect me from him?”

A joyful gleam flicked on behind his red eyes, just like the flags rising before Liz. “Do you want to make a deal?”

“No, no deals. I already have one with Jack, or ‘Leo’ does.” Liz said sourly, recalling signing Jack’s contract and Zero shouting into her ear. “I actually want to talk about deals in general. How do they work?”

She didn’t miss the shadow of disappointment in his grin, but he brightened and indicated for her to have a seat. When she was seated, he began, “It works much like you would expect. A soul signs a contract giving the demon whatever they want in exchange for their own desire.”

“What is usually exchanged?”

“Mostly servitude in exchange for protection during the Exterminations.”

“Can all Overlords defend against the angels?”

“If they are powerful enough,” Alastor nodded, picking up his teacup. “Creating a ward against angels isn’t a simple ability. It takes a bit of power. Some allied Overlords will pool their power together before an Extermination and hunker down under the danger passes.”

“Can you create a ward against angels?” Liz asked out of curiosity. 

“Of course! I can’t have those bothersome feathered nitwits causing a ruckus at my radio station.” 

“Was there a ward against angels around CandyLand?”

Alastor blinked. “I…do not know. I presume there would be along with the other wards in place.”

“It’s already built like a military fortress. Maybe a ward against angels isn’t necessary?”

“Or…” Alastor had a pensive smile as he took a slow sip of tea. “Jack does not have enough power to conjure one.”

“There are wards against Overlords though?”

“Plenty, but as I said wards against angels are a different league. The magic takes incredible power and fortunately, it’s only needed for one day a year.” Alastor refilled his teacup and dropped two lumps of sugar into it. “However wards against other Overlords and demons take considerably less power, but must measure greater than the strength of the invading demon.”

“Okay, I think I understand. Let’s say Vox wanted to cause you trouble at your home base. He’s got to be more powerful than your wards to get in?”

“Basically, yes, but there are trickier ways,” The Radio Demon regarded her with amusement. “You are quite interested in Overlords, Elisa.”

“Well, I can’t seem to walk a block without running into one,” Liz shrugged, not really wanting to talk about her encounter with Valentino. “You said trickier ways. What do you mean?”

“It can be done by simple means. I attached my shadow to yours which allows me to see and hear you,” Alastor explained, stirring his tea with a silver spoon. It clicked in a soft melodious chime. “Vox could run a bit of himself through the electrical currents of the power lines to my radio station.”

“He can do that!?” The lightbulb in the wall lamp suddenly seemed as ominous as a barrel of a gun. 

“To a small extent, but not enough to cause anyone any harm. My wards allow me to sense him if he should dare try and eject him brutally and he would face further consequences at another date.”

Well, if Vox could crawl out of TVs, it wasn’t a long stretch that he could travel via power lines … wait… CandyLand had power. If they were so paranoid of Vox, they would spray paint TVs, then why are they still using power?

Liz supposed they would need it to power their machines to make drugs. So were they using wards to block Vox from coming in the power lines...no? No power lines were leading to CandyLand. 

Because CandyLand generated their own power. 

Would that help in some way? Liz supposed cutting the power could help in a siege, but imps could see well in the dark. What about the elevators and doors? 

“Elisa.”

She raised her eyes to see a red tipped claw inches from her forehead. Giving her the spot between her brows a poke, Alastor said, “What devious manipulations are brewing in there?”

“Hopefully something that will bring down CandyLand. I have to see my father before I have to go back.” 

***

Seeing Marty again brought a wave of lassitude and peace, which would have been complete if not for Shard’s presence. He regarded her cold neutrality sitting back in the chair with his feet on the edge of the bed. 

“Shard.” She said in an icy greeting.

“Liz,” he returned the sentiment with a flash of sharp teeth. 

“How is he?” Marty’s condition didn’t seem to improve or worsen since she last saw him. 

“The same. How was playing James Bond? Saved the day?” Shard smirked. 

“It’s been a lot of fun,” Liz retorted. “I’ve learned so much about the drug trade in Hell what with spooning cocaine into dime bags.”

“And they haven’t cotton onto you being a 30 year old woman?” He said dryly. 

“Nope,” Liz rejoined. “I’m so good at passing myself off as a teenage buoy, there’s this imp pervert who’s all but humped my leg.”

“Ohhh, brutal,” Shard sneered. “Well, I think Angel Dust can recommend some good lube. Ya know, to keep up appearances.”

“Sure, why not?” Liz mocked. “Can you take it out of here? I want to spend some time with my father.”

“Sure, sweetheart, whatever you want. Certainly wouldn’t want to upset Marty’s little princess.”

Liz didn’t relax until the door closed behind Shard. Sinking into the chair, she hung her head and raked both hands through her hair. “Dad . . .I’m so tired. Just so, so tired.” 

Marty’s arms around her would feel good right now. His voice would be a soothing balm on her frightened psyche. It was almost too tempting to crawl into bed next to him and sleep for a week. 

“I don’t want to go back there. That place is so horrible. It’s like a prison or an internment camp. I wouldn’t wish living there on my worst enemy.” Then she thought of Izzy or Shard living there and felt a measure of pleasure at the thought. “Well . . .maybe that’s not true . . .but Jesse and Mateo sure don’t deserve it.”

Marty’s chest slowly rose and fell, a reassuring sign he was still living. Or nonliving . . .what do you call it down here? 

“I think I got a plan . . .it’s going to be risky and I still have wrinkles to work out, but I think it’s gonna pan out. I really wish you were awake so I could run it by you.” After a few minutes of contemplation, she said, “Actually, you would do everything in your power to keep me from going back. You’d probably lock me in a closet.”

Liz kissed his cheek before heading downstairs. If she had stayed longer, just a moment longer, she might have noticed the fingers on his right hand slowly curl on the sheets.

Jesse was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t seem as eager as she to go back to CandyLand. His fur was ruffled, and ears almost slanted outward. Fidgeting with his tail, he looked up at her as she descended. 

“Ready?” She asked, lowering onto the step next to him.

“Not really,” Jesse admitted. 

“Where’s Mateo?”

“Eating his fill of pastries and learning about Disney movies from Charlie. I think he has a crush.” 

“Oh, well, if not for his age, I would say he suits her better than some other green face bastard I know,” Liz snorted, thinking of Seviathan. 

“It’s gonna suck to tell him it’s time to go back. I think he likes it here.”

“Then let me brighten your night,” Liz said, hating herself. “Mateo is staying here.” At Jesse’s startled look, she nodded, “Mateo has to stay here.”

“Wait, wait, Liz, that’s gonna . . .that’s gonna start trouble and Diego is going to be pissed . . .”

“I know, but right now we need to get our story straight.” 

  
  



	44. Arch 6: CandyLand - Fallout

When Liz told Mateo he would be staying in the hotel, his reaction was mixed and confused. 

“But . . .won’t you get in trouble?”

“No, we’re going to be okay. Don’t worry about us.” She didn’t bother keeping herself from maternally smoothing down her hair. “Jesse and I are going to be fine.”

“What about . . .about Diego?”

“He’ll be fine too. If . . .” Liz had to watch her words. She wanted to promise him the world but didn’t want to make promises she couldn’t keep. “I’m going to do everything I can to see that you are reunited with him outside of CandyLand.”

“Oh . . .” He didn’t look convinced. 

As a distraction, she said, “How do you like Vaggie and Charlie?”

“They’re really nice,” Mateo smiled for the first time since eating his first fast food meal. “Vaggie speaks  _ espanol  _ too. The rooms are really big and Charlie says I stay up as late as I want to and sleep in as late as I want to.”

Liz frowned, recalling the hotel rules. “Wait, it’s breakfast at 8:30 and lights out 8:30?”

“Yeah, but those are still later times!” Mateo's ears lowered as he looked away. “What about you? You have to go back in there with imps and Asher!”

“We’ll be fine, alright? Just do as Charlie asks and hopefully, you’ll hear from Diego soon.”

God, she hoped it was sooner rather than later. While Charlie was more than willing to take in Mateo, she too shared the same concerns for Liz and Jesse. While Liz assured her they’ll be fine and, yes, she had to go back into CandyLand, especially now while she had a formation of a plan coming together.

***

However, Jesse didn’t have her optimism, especially when it came to Diego. “He’s going to kick our asses.”

“Just put the blame on me,” Liz told him as they traverse the sewers back to CandyLand, now without Mateo. The little Xolo’s presence and companionship were dearly missed. “It’s my idea after all.”

“That’s not how he’s gonna see it,” Jesse sighed, “Mateo and Diego have been together in life and in death. I don’t think they’ve ever been apart. Diego is more than his big brother . . .he’s been his parent ever since he was little!”

_ And I just separated a child from a parental figure. God, I hope it’s going to be worth it in the end. _

“And we still have doubletime to deal with!”

“What is double time?” Liz recalled the conversation they overheard on their way out of CandyLand. 

“Oh, you’re gonna love it,” Jesse said sourly. “We work until the quota is filled.”

Dread filled her to the brim. “Meaning . . .?”

“We work until the order is filled,” Jesse repeated with meaning. “We only get a thirty minute break to sleep or eat every six hours and that’s only if we make good progress into filling the order.”

She stared at him in complete horror. “No.” 

“Yeah,” Jesse nodded, eyes brimming with dread. “And if you think Drix was bad before, he’s worse during doubletime.”

“Aw, shit . . .how . . .how long does doubletime last?” 

“Dunno. The last one took three days.”

Oh, God! And she and Jesse haven’t slept since last night!? They’ll be lucky if they make it back in time to get one hour of sleep. How were they going to survive three days of mind-numbing work?

However, this could work in their favor. There was a lot of risk and guesswork on her part, and very likely, it was going to get her hurt or killed at the end of it, but maybe it’ll be worth it in the end. 

***

“Remember to stick to our story. No matter what they say or ask.”

“Al-alright.”

“It’s going to be alright. Worse comes to worse, you get out of CandyLand, take anyone who’ll go with you, and never come back.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about me.” 

They barely got an hour's sleep before the door was kicked in. The two of them looked up blearily, forgetting where they were for a millisecond before Asher started shouting like a drill sergeant after imbibing an energy drink.

“He’s here! The faggots were in here fucking!”

Though it was true they were huddled together on the mattress with Liz’s arm maternally around Jesse, they were still fully clothed and were in such a deep sleep it took Asher seizing them by the arms and yanking them into the hall to fully wake them. Liz blinked against the bright light, feeling light headed and so very tired, but triggered to her senses when Zero’s face, breath pungent from smoking and sweating from the exertion of walking from his office, loomed into hers.

His breath blasted her nose as he demanded, “Where is he?”

“Where’s who?” She drew back, using the force of will not to hold her nose. 

She was given a bodily shake by Asher hard enough to make her teeth and bones rattle. “Don’t play dumb, faggot!”

“Asher, cut that shit out!” Zero growled. “I’m trying to talk to him!”

When the world stopped spinning, she could make out other imps behind Zero. Zip was eyeing her darkly; Drix had his arms crossed, and behind them was a new imp she hadn’t see before. He was taller than the rest and muscular with horns resembling an oxen’s, thick like the large end of a baseball bat and tapered into sharp points. He was wearing a wife beater that barely contained his wider frame, soil jeans, and cowboy boots. A toothpick twitched between his teeth as if he was aiming it to spit at her eye. 

“Mateo.” Zero snapped his fingers beneath her nose to get her attention. “Where is he?”

“I dunno.” Liz put in a defensive and annoyed front like a kid being unfairly accused. “He ain’t with his brother?”

Taking a glance down the hall, she saw all the doors were opened with curious faces peeking out and then disappearing when Zero turned his gaze down the hall. A sole figure occupied the hall, looking lost but very much present with his agitation and size - Diego. 

“Diego said he might be with Jesse,” Zero groused, eyeing her up and down like the dog who shit on an expensive rug. “We look for Jesse in his room, don’t find him there. Checked Greta’s, he ain’t there either. However, we come by here and here he is with you curled up like a pile of kittens. What’s that about?”

“Fraternizations aren't prohibited in CandyLand,” Liz replied. 

Zero’s eye ridge arched into a near point as he gave her an incredulous look, similar to the one he gave her after signing the contract. 

“It’s not mentioned anywhere in the contract I signed,” she continued, standing her ground with a slight slouch of her shoulders.

“I told you he’s a little smartass,” Zero snorted over his shoulder at the other imps. “Alright, little Dante, where’s Mateo?”

“I dunno.” 

To Jesse, who was being grappled by Annie, he gave the same question: “Where’s Mateo?”

Jesse’s ears laid flat on his skull. “I dunno.”

“You ain’t seen him around?” Zero looked between the two of them. 

They both shook their heads and said, “No.”

Zero narrowed his beady eyes, and nostrils flared on his flat face. After searching their faces, he said, “Jesse, why were you in Leo’s room?”

“He wanted a tattoo.”

“A what!?”

“A tattoo. I gave him one with an ink pen and a needle.”

“Let’s see it,” Asher snarled, baring a mouthful of teeth in his ursine face. 

Wordlessly, before Zero had a chance to respond, Liz pulled down the shoulder of her hoodie and the shirt beneath, revealing the tattoo of the black swan. 

Zero’s studied the tattoo, impressed despite himself. “You did this with just an ink pen and a needle?”

“Yes,” Jesse replied.

“And our boy Leo wanted a swan?”

“It was my mother’s name.” Liz spoke up with a shrug. “Jesse said he would do one for me so he came over to my room and he worked on it for most of the night.”

Zero turned to Jesse. “Where did you get the ink pen? You steal it?”

“I found it.” Jesse reached into his pocket and held out a broken pen. It was a common pen sold in Hell, just like the ones on Earth easily lost and then found again. It had been one of Charlies, and Jesse broke it beneath his heel at Liz’s encouragement. 

“When did you go to Leo’s room?” Zero continued the interrogation. 

Jesse shrugged. “Dunno. After lights out.”

There were no clocks in CandyLand save for the imps’ watches, so it couldn’t be argued whether Jesse knew the exact time or not. Zero again glared between the two of them. “Did you see Mateo?”

“No.” 

“You didn’t see him in the hall while you were going to Leo’s room?”

“No.” 

_ Good job, Jesse. Answer the questions in a clear voice. Don’t volunteer information, just like I coached you when you testified against your mother and step-father. _

The muscular imp switched the toothpick into the opposite corner of his mouth. “Zero, this ain’t gettin’ us anywhere. When the little snot shows up, I’ll get the tar outta him myself. We got an order to fill and lookin’ for the runt of the litter ain’t gonna get it filled.”

“Fuck,” Zero growled, then shot a hard look at Jesse. “Where’s Mateo!?”

“I dunno.”

Then to Liz, “Where’s Mateo?”

“I dunno,” Liz repeated. 

“Are you fucking lying to me?”

“No,” they both said in unison. 

“If I find out you know where he is . . .and you’re hiding him . . .you’re gonna pay a visit to Ripper.”

***

If Liz thought the previous three days were terrible, she had no idea what the next few days would hold for her. Made even worse by the lack of sleep. The first hour, she was able to work at her usual pace; unfortunately, she soon felt the night’s events caught up to her.

Her eyes were heavy, and though she could work on auto-pilot, zoning out meant she almost dozed off a couple of times at her work station. If not for Foxy poking her in the ribs, she would have gotten into serious trouble with Drix. 

“You better wake up and work before Drix comes over here and cracks your skull,” Foxy hissed out the side of his mouth. It wasn’t for her sake he kept her awake and working. Anyone within close proximity to Drix’s target of his wrath was caught in the fallout.

However, despite Foxy’s effort, it was to no avail when Drix swept by, stopped when he spotted Liz’s box of dime bags. “What fuck is this?”

Liz looked down at her box of dime bags and grimaced. The bags contained half of what would warrant ten dollars worth of cocaine. In her delirium and desire to finish as soon as possible, she had tried to fill the bags with quick scoops of cocaine. 

“I’ll . . .I’ll redo them.” She quickly grabbed the pathetic bags from the box. 

“No fuckin’ shit you will redo them! And guess what!” Drix turned to the rest of the workers. “Everyone! Thank Leo here for fucking up and pushing back your break by three hours!”

There was a wave of groans, curses, and even sobs. All eyes of all shapes and colors flashed at her. More than a few gave her the finger, and someone drew a line across his throat with a thumb.

_ Oh, sweet Jesus, they are going to kill me. If there were lockers, they would shove me into one with a cherry bomb!  _

It wasn’t them she had to worry about. It was Diego.

She barely stumbled into the cafeteria for their belated break to eat something and then passed out for a twenty minute power nap. Maybe everyone was too tired to hassle her. She made a beeline for the meal line when she was bodily lifted and slammed into a wall. Diego’s face loomed close to hers with teeth pulled back, baring sharp teeth and ears laid back, looking exactly like an angry canine.

_ “¿Dónde está mi hermano, perra?”  _ He snarled, giving her another thump against the wall.  _ Where’s my brother, you bitch? _

Liz patted his hands, unable to breathe from his grip on the hoodie. “Down. Put me down and . . . _ Te diré.” I’ll tell you. _

He dropped her but didn’t relinquish one iota of his grip on her.  _ “¡Dónde!” _

_ “Mateo está en el Happy Hotel.”  _ Liz glanced around. People were watching but maintaining a safe distance.  _ Mateo is at the Happy Hotel. _

_ “¡Perra loca! ¡Tráele de regreso!”  _ If it was possible for his snarl to deepen, Diego proved it when his eyes suddenly went red. Literally went red with his pupils burning white-hot.  _ Crazy bitch! Bring him back!  _

_ “Diego, escúchame. Los diablillos te van a pedir que arregles una de sus camionetas.”  _ Liz said quickly, searching the crowd furtively. Did any of them understand Spanish? There were a lot of curious stares, and some even dared to lean forward to listen. There was no choice, but she had to risk it.  _ Diego, listen to me. The imps are going to have you fix one of their vans.  _

“What about it?” Diego momentarily switched back to English, his eyes still burning into hers. 

She gripped his upper arms, fingers digging into his sleeves. Later, Liz would hate herself, even berate herself for what she was about to do.  _ “Si quieres volver a ver a tu hermano. . .Asegúrese de que la camioneta permanezca rota.” If you want to see your brother again . . .make sure that van stays broken.  _

Behind Diego, she could see both Greta and Jesse watching the exchange. Greta’s face was furrowed in confusion and concern, but Jesse, knowing what was happening, had his face bowed and looking away, shame lowering his ears. Diego looked as if he could kill her on the spot. Fury twisted his features until he turned away, with an unstoppable onslaught of a runaway train. 

She untightened her shoulders and drew a deep breath to ease her pounding heart. She had survived giving Diego the . . .threats? Promise? Deal? Damn, what should she call what she had just done to Diego? 

“Hey, squirt,” a voice called into her ear. Annie was bending to bring her mouth close to Liz’s ear. “Zip wants to see you.”

_ Out of the angry pan and straight into the pervy fire.  _

_ *** _

Liz was terrified when Annie led her into the break room. She expected to see the refrigerator pulled away from the wall to expose the wall. Zip would be standing there demanding an explanation. However, instead, the refrigerator was in place, and Zip was sitting at the table with a large pizza box. 

“Hey, sport, hungry?”

_ I am so starving. I would eat that whole pizza right out of your hands.  _ Liz raised a shoulder in a shrug. “I could eat.”

“Alright, dig in.”

There were meaty bits on the pizza, and at this point, she was too hungry to care if they were cannibal toppings or not. She devoured one slice but paced herself when eating the second slice to make it last and focus on Zip. He wouldn’t have brought her a rare delicacy for this place, like pizza, if he didn’t want something in return.

“Sooo, about Mateo . . .” Zip raised hands as if expecting to give him something. “Where is he?”

“I told Zero I didn’t know where he is.”

“I was there,” Zip replied dryly. “But this is you and me. You can tell me and I promise you won’t get in trouble.”

“I don’t know where he is.” She took a big bite of pizza to buy some time when he asked his next question.

“People just don’t disappear in this place . . .unless you’re Jesse.”

“Jesse was with me last night.”

“Right, but sometimes Jesse will . . .disappear at night. Last week he showed up late for a shift. We looked everywhere, but could’t find him until he came slinking back to his room that night.”

“Dunno about that. I wasn’t here last week,” Liz muttered between chews. 

“Well, we suspect that Jesse has a way of getting out of CandyLand.”

“Really?” Liz looked mildly interested. “Why hasn’t he gotten his head bitten off if he can get out?”

Zip stared at her with his head tilting at her. “Do you think Jesse got Mateo out of CandyLand?”

“Jesse was with me last night.”

“He was? The whole night?”

“Yeah, he came into my room after you left.”

“And he didn’t leave at all?”

“No. He did not.”

“Not even to use the bathroom.”

“He was with me.”

“What were you doing?”

“He was giving me a tattoo.”

“That’s it? You didn’t talk or do other things?”

“We talked,” Liz admitted. 

Zip waited, but Liz only ate pizza instead. With an exasperated grunt, Zip snapped, “What did you talk about!?”

“I dunno. We talked about the other kids . . .Asher, Jesse hates Asher’s guts. We bitched about Drix being an asshole. Just . . .stuff.”

“Did any of that ‘stuff’ include Mateo?”

“Not anything about him leaving CandyLand. He’s an okay kid. Why? You think we smuggled him out of CandyLand?”

“I don’t know, did you?”

She had eaten almost half the pizza, but knowing she would need plenty of energy to survive doubletime, she continued eating. “No! Why aren’t you interrogating Diego? He’s Mateo’s brother.”

“We already did,” Zip snapped. “And I’m the one asking questions here, sport. What other stuff did you do?”

“Just the tattoo.”

“You were sleeping together.”

“It wasn’t anything weird.” Was that jealousy she saw in his eye? “We got tired and fell asleep.

Making a noncommittal noise, Zip eyed her darkly. “You and I had a deal. I keep Asher and Anne off your ass and you keep an eye on Diego. You fucked up.”

“What? How the hell I was supposed to know Mateo was gonna pull a magic trick and disappear? What? You want me to park my ass outside of Diego’s door so I can count his snores and walking back and forth to the bathroom?”

“Leo, sweetheart, you’re cute,” Zip said, his voice thick with warning. “But ya ain’t cute enough to get away with being a smartass.” Then giving her a snide smile, he added, “If you’re not going to keep up your end of the deal, then I have an idea of something else you can do for me.”

_ Shit, I overplayed my hand and pissed him off. And he’s jealous of what he ‘thinks’ happened between Jesse and me. _

“Who said I wasn’t going to keep up my end of the deal? Mateo being gone means Diego’s all alone. Maybe he wants another little brother to look after?”

Zip arched an eye ridge. “Seriously?”

“I need time to get close to Diego. Just . . .ya know, keep your distance from me. Diego hates you and if he thinks you and I have a deal . . .well, he wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole.”

The imp stared at her for a long, long time. Sweating, she waited and hoped she had played her cards right. It would keep Zip away from her and give her an excellent excuse to hover around the Xolo demon. 

“Alright, sport, if that’s what you want. Put down the pizza, you’re done eating.” 

She was actually halfway through the second to last slice. Wordlessly, she set it down and wondered what the fallout was going to be. Had she pissed off Zip by her subtle rejection? Or was he going along with it? 

“Alright, kiddo, once doubletime is over . . .you and I are going to have a nice long, private chat together.” Zip walked her to the hall, hand on her shoulder when his fingers tighten, leaving behind bruises. “And if you don’t have something for me to use against Diego . . .well . . .you’re gonna have to make it up to me . . .okay?”

Then he slapped her ass. Hard enough to give her a flashback of when her ass got slapped on P.P. District. With her ass stinging, she returned to her room to get whatever rest she could before she resumed doubletime. 

The plan was coming together . . . 

**Author's Note:**

> Any kudos or comments is much appreciated.
> 
> For updates and more follow my blog on Tumblr and Twitter: rebelcourtesan
> 
> Thicker than Water now has its own Tv Tropes page! https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanFic/ThickerThanWater
> 
> Listen to the Thicker than Water Playlist on Spotify! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3zzlwOCUOUlMfMVom1G58N?si=-BuspLJiQUa_-J4NjXZhGA


End file.
